


Hero Worship

by Manchanification



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Foursome, Frottage, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Angst, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partner Swapping, Slash, Strip Tease, The Commando Commander, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, boobs, moresome, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 140,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5338373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manchanification/pseuds/Manchanification
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Inquisitor and the Hero of Ferelden meet at Skyhold things get off to an uncomfortable start. Alistair and Cullen help their ladies to find common ground, with alarming success. (Now with NSFW chapters).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Planned as a multi chapter fic. Character pairings will be noted at the beginning of each chapter so you can read smut chapters according to your taste.
> 
> Chapter Summary: King Alistair and Queen Elizabeth arrive at Skyhold, but things don't get off to a smooth a start as they had hoped.
> 
> Kudos, comments and constructive criticism appreciated.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Hero: A person who is admired for their courage, outstanding achievements and noble qualities.

A hero was upheld, a paragon, an example of the finest a society, a nation, a species, had to offer. The best and brightest; someone brave, strong, kind, clever and noble.

All these words had been used to describe the Hero of Ferelden, a woman who was so adored by the people of her country that it was a miracle she hadn't ascended to godhood. Warden Commander, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Lady of Highever, Queen of Ferelden.

Just how many titles could one woman hold? How close to perfection could one mortal human come?

Very, if the stories of Elizabeth Theirin (formerly Cousland, one couldn't forget that) were to go by. The story of the woman who ended the fifth blight in but a brief year. Who had lost her family to treacherous tragedy and risen above it all. Who had saved her country not only from the dreaded darkspawn but from the machinations of on old war hero gone sadly mad. Who had revealed its true, if somewhat hesitant king and dragged him, blinking, to his rightful place on the throne. Who had stood by his side for the years to come, as easy with court and she was with bow and dagger. Who had left her king's side only to search for a cure that would save them both from their tainted blood.

Artemis Trevelyan wasn't sure how to cope with the concept of a woman who seemed to defy any sense of the word 'normal', much less how to meet her in person. Yet, somehow, that very event was going to occur here, in Skyhold, in a matter of mere hours. 

Not that she wasn't excited, of course, it was just that at the moment it was more a mixture of trepidation, delight and the barest hint of dubiousness. Because really, just how heroic could one person be?

The answer turned out to be somewhere between 'exceedingly' and 'not at all' when the royal entourage crossed the bridge; the king and queen flanked by a handful of lightly armoured guards that seemed positively drab in comparison to the displays that Orlesian nobles arrived with on a regular basis. No bright colours or blaring fanfare, just an almost normal couple with their modest accompaniment of guards, a servant each and a flagbearer at the front of the group carrying the Fereldan heraldry. Yet somehow that unassuming entrance made far more of an impact than even Empress Celene could ever dream of.

It was the Inquisition's own soldiers whose reactions announced their arrival far more than the party itself as nine Fereldan forders trotted into the fortress's lower courtyard, a brindled mabari padding at the heels of the queen's grey mare. 

Artemis watched their arrival from the balcony that Vivienne had always favoured, looking down over Skyhold's vast, tiered courtyard. The party was barely recognisable from this distance and she squinted, making out the king only by the distinctive red-gold of his hair as he slid off his own black mount. She smiled to recognise him, despite the nerves settling in her stomach at the prospect of meeting his wife. 

King Alistair had paid a visit to Skyhold shortly after Corypheus' defeat nearly two years ago and she had been both surprised and delighted at his manner. True, she had met him earlier, when dealing with rebel mages and tevinter magisters. The short introduction to his majesty's impressively bad temper at the time had left her dreading his visit when he had announced his intentions, no matter the amount of written apologies he had made.

Embarrased apologies were the first words to tumble from his mouth when they had met again several months later, followed by heartfelt thanks for her aid and congratulations on her and her colleague's achievements. Over the few days that he had stayed, Artemis had found herself growing to like the man, a feeling that had only increased when she had discovered the long standing friendship between him and her own commander. Cullen's clear familiarity and affection for his old friend had only served to improve her opinion of Ferelden's king. When he had left a week or so later, it was with a firm personal and political friendship with the inquisition.

For all his titles and power, Alistair had proven himself to be remarkably humble, quick witted, friendly and good natured, his occasional faux pas, fumble or blush disregarded in favour of his dry humour and pleasant nature. 

Yes, King Alistair had left a devestatingly positive impression and Artemis couldn't for a moment think of any reason why his wife, a woman with her own list of impressive credentials, would differ. Well...excluding the naturally intimidating nature of her position, of course.

Leaning on the parapet, she watched as the couple made their way towards the keep, the queen handing her heavy black travelling cloak off to her handmaiden. Artemis squinted, trying to make out the details of her dress, suddenly apprehensive of her own plain garments. Would the queen think less of her for not greeting her in a gown herself? Or would a dress only undermine her own reputation as the Inquisitor, make her seem like a frail young girl in front of the queen's understated strength.

She walked with purpose, she noticed, watching the queen as she matched her husband's long strides. Each step was graceful and pronounced, giving her a flowing quality as she moved, emphasising her training as a rogue. 

They moved quickly, climbing the steps to Skyhold's great hall where Josephine stood ready to greet them. 

'We should get down there to greet them. Quickly.'

Artemis blinked, finding Cullen suddenly beside her and she nodded, allowing him to take her by the elbow and guide her down the few flights of stairs to the main hall. They took their place at the far end of the hall quickly, standing before the throne, his hand briefly moving to touch hers as she smooth out her uniform. 

'You're not normally this nervous.'

'I don't normally meet queens who are also heroes.'

'True. But I doubt that Alistair's wife is going to be anywhere near as frightening as you seem to think she'll be.' 

'Not frightening but maybe...intimidating. After all they say about her, you know? And they say she's rather beautiful.'

Cullen shrugs easily, his eyes soft as he looks to her.

'I don't recall that she was especially.'

'Ah, of course...you met her, before she was queen.'

'Briefly, yes. Besides, as far as I'm concerned there's no woman as beautiful as you.'

Artemis smiles softly, bathing in the compliment, watching his lips curl into a reassuring smile before he turns back to watching the open door, awaiting the royal couple's arrival. 

It doesn't take long, the couple arriving in the large doorway at the far end of the hall, Josephine beside them. They appear as nothing more than silhouettes at first, the bright sunlight behind them blinding her to their features. They're tall though, that much is obvious, King Alistair towering over the Ambassador, his queen on his arm only a few inches shorter. And Queen Elizabeth is as slender as King Alistair is broad, almost elven in her litheness, willowy next to her king's bulky frame.

'I don't remember her being that tall...'

The words are quiet next to her ear and she looks up to Cullen, finding him fixed on the queen as they approach. She tries to keep her face neutral, unsure as to what Cullen means, but it doesn't last long when his lips part slightly, eyebrows lifting as he takes a breath, looking at the couple before the expression is wiped away again.

She flicks her own attention back to them, suddenly understanding his sudden captivation with the couple. 

They are stunning.

She is stunning.

Artemis had been prepared for Alistair, her visit with him so many months ago informing her of just how devastatingly handsome he was, almost on a par with her own commander.

The queen though...

She had heard all the rumours, read all the stories, asked Leiliana about her until the spymaster was exhausted. And yet they had not quite prepared her for the reality of the woman before her. If King Alistair was a rival to Cullen's own attractiveness, then Queen Elizabeth utterly surpassed the Inquisitor herself in every way.

Her height was all the more noticeable as the couple approached, her slender arm curled through the loop of her husband's, a daintily fingered hand resting lightly on his forearm. A heavy cape fell about narrow shoulders, its deep blue colouring a sharp contrast to the ivory of her skin. There wasn't a blemish to be found on her, save for a long scar stretching from just below the corner of her mouth and up to her ear. It had marred there, a knot of skin where her severed earlobe had been reattached with haste, the flesh never having properly knit together again. 

Her hair, a rich deep red, was pulled back into a functional bun, a few wisps that Skyhold's keen wind had tugged loose falling against her cheeks. The wind had left her finely boned cheeks and nose a rosy pink, almost a match to the colour on her lips.

So finely featured, so refined in the strength of her jaw and the sweep of her nose that's ever so slightly wide that Artemis felt uncomfortably dumpy in her presence.

But it's her eyes that had caught her attention the most, a dark, clear, undeniable blue, sharp and intelligent as they take in the hall before coming to rest on the Inquisitor and her Commander.

It hits her like a wave, hot jealousy coiling in her abdomen as she takes in the monarchs, the queen tilting her head to speak into her husband's ear.

'That's a rather impressive throne, don't you think?'

The words are faint, but she catches them, even as King Alistair gently hushes his wife, and she has to resist the urge to turn and look at the overly large throne behind her. So many had insisted that the chair, fashioned from the skull of a dragon, would look impressive; a testament to the Inquisition's prowess and the Inquisitor's own abilities. She had disagreed at the time, arguing that it would appear a tacky display of vanity, as though she was trying to be more than she was capable of.

She'd given in at the time. Now, she wished she hadn't and she almost squirmed from embarrassment, a hot flush of something nearing shame quickly washing away the jealousy she had felt moments before.

'His Majesty King Alistair Theirin and Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth Theirin,' Josephine annouced as she came to stand beside them, turning to their guests 'It is an honour to have you here and to introduce Lady Artemis Trevelyan and Commander Cullen Rutherford of the Inquisition. Though, begging your pardon your majesties, I'm sure introductions are not needed.'

Alistair grinned broadly, his characteristic expression replacing the neutral one he adopted for diplomatic meetings.

'Probably not, but I dare say it should be done anyway, for the benefit of my lady wife...' He turned to the queen, his smile softening with affection. 

Elizabeth smiled politely as Cullen knelt before his rulers, rising at Alistair's bidding as Artemis gave a short bow, hiding the nervous trembling of her hands behind her back.

'It is truly an honour to meet you at last, your majesty,' she glanced up to see the queen inclining her head slightly, her own voice uncharacterisitically clipped in her ears, catching on the words 'We've heard a good deal about you.'

'Likewise, Inquisitor,' she extended a hand, an eyebrow raised ever so slightly 'I am sorry that we haven't met sooner, but circumstances have not allowed it.'

There was a moments pause before Artemis took the queen's hand, giving it a brief shake. Surely a handshake was not an appropriate way to greet royalty, even if it was offered first? The queen's expression remained blank at her hesitation.

'Better late than never, right?' Alistair quipped, his eyes darting between the two women. Elizabeth nodded, a little too quickly.

'Yes, of course.'

A moment passed, Alistair's gaze silently questioning his wife before he turned to Cullen, his familiar grin returning. The men greeted one another, a clasping of forearms that quickly turned to a brief embrace that took Cullen by surprise, though he seemed pleased enough by the action. 

Turning to the inquisitor, Alistair offered her a quick kiss on the hand, glancing back to his queen as he did, who simply smiled again.

'Right...uh, maybe a tour is in order, for my lady? Or perhaps...'

'Might we have a short reprieve first?' Elizabeth suggested, eyes flicking between her hosts 'I would prefer to freshen up and maybe have a moment to rest. It has been something of a tiresome journey with the recent storms.'

'Of course, your Majesty, we have chambers prepared for you,' Josephine responded immediately, her nervousness over the queen and inquisitor's stilted interactions showing clearly 'I can arrange for the chambermaids to prepare a bath, if you wish.'

Smiling, the warden commander shook her head gently, her hand coming to rest on the head of the mabari that had padded to her side.

'That's kind of you, ambassador. Perhaps later this evening, for now I think a basin and ewer will suffice.'

'As you wish, ma'am. If you'd care to follow me I can show you to your guest room.'

'Thank you, Lady Montilyet,' the queen smiled again, turning her attention back to inquisitor and commander 'A pleasure to meet you both, Inquisitor, Commander. Perhaps we could become better acquainted later today? That tour my king mentioned, maybe?'

Artemis smiled tightly, nodding to the taller woman.

'Of course, your Majesty. I look forward to it.'

'Thank you, Inquisitor. We'll send a runner to make arrangments.' Alistair replied, his smile wavering slightly as he placed his hand in the small of his wife's back.

Artemis couldn't help but miss the worried glance he gave to Cullen before turning to follow Josephine out of the hall.

'Well...that was bloody awful,' she muttered, turning to Cullen 'I thought Alistair said she was nice?'

'I'm sure it's just nerves on both your parts.' Cullen replied, trying to appease, watching the queen's mabari pace about the room, sniffing. The hound didn't seem too interested in following his master directly, instead wandering to the throne.

'She's a queen. Why would she be nervous at meeting...' Artemis scowled, pausing at Cullen's sudden silence and wide eyes. She turned sharply to see what he was staring at, only to hear a panicked call from further down the hall.

'Barkspawn! No!'

The command from Alistair came too late as her majesty's faithful hound cocked his leg against the dragon skull, a thin stream of urine spattering against the arm and pooling on the floor by the chair. Alistair seized the warhound by the scruff a moment later, pulling the animal away, it's marking interrupted.

Wide eyes glanced up to meet her own, a dark blush spreading over the king's cheeks in utter embarrassment.

'Artemis, Cullen...I am so sorry. I don't know what's gotten into him, he's usually so well behaved.'

'I...' Artemis could only stammer in response, staring at the dog which seemed almost pleased with itself.

'It's...fine, Alistair,' Cullen broke in, worry carving his brow 'I'm sure he just didn't like the scent of it. Mabari are particularly sensitive to the smell of predators, I believe.'

'Uh...yes, perhaps. I'll have one of our attendants see to it immediately.'

'No, it's fine, your Majesty,' Artemis cut in, her voice suddenly steady and Alistair's brows lifted in concern at the use of his title 'We'll have someone attend to it.'

Her tone allowed for no argument, leaving Alistair gaping for a moment before he nodded.

'As you wish, Lady Trevelyan. Again, I can't apologise enough.'

She simply smiled curtly in response, her dismissal apparent and Alistair frowned before hauling the mabari away by its scruff, ordering it out into the courtyard.

Artemis took a breath, her spine stiff as servants hurried to clean the throne. She was aware of Cullen's eyes on her as she stared at the retreating monarchs, shrugging off his attention in favour of watching them. And there she caught it, just as Alistair leaned to speak into his queen's ear, a short but undeniable shake of her shoulders, her hand lifting to her mouth to hide her laugh.

The door closed behind them before Artemis could make any move and she simply stood, dumbfounded, staring after them, anger roiling in her stomach at the queen's behaviour.

'Well....that was....ah....'

Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck, his brow pinched with something between fear and worry as he looked at her.

'That, was inappropriate. And if she thinks she's getting away with it just because she's queen, she has another thing coming. I will not be humiliated in my own keep.'

She turned and stalked from the hall, slamming the door behind her as she made for her chambers, all the while wondering at just what a mess this whole thing had turned into.


	2. Of Inquisitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Elizabeth have a little chat about her manners...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character development chapter. Please excuse the amount of talking, have tried to make it interesting whilst covering a little bit of character background etc.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

Inquisitor: A person making an inquiry, especially one seen to be excessively harsh or searching.

Except that as far as Elizabeth was concerned, the famed Inquisitor seemed to be anything but, instead appearing as though being a leader was the furthest possible thing from her mind. 

When the Inquisition had first re-established itself a little over a year ago she had been avidly curious to know what sort of organisation it would be. Other than an inquisitive one of course. She had been even more curious to know what kind of a person would be leading such a boldly named cause. 

The Herald of Andraste would have seemed to be the natural choice and with that title, she had envisioned someone wise, kind, thoughtful but firm. A mother figure, if you would.

And yet Lady Trevelyan seemed to be something of a meek girl who crumbled under the slightest pressure. Surely a woman who had achieved the prestigious title of Inquisitor, who had become known as the Hero of Thedas (a title far greater than her own, she mused) and had managed to restore one of the largest orders in history to full force could not truly be so cowed by the presence of herself.

Yes, she had her own credentials, but they paled in comparison.

Unclasping the pin that held her cloak in place she stepped into the rooms that Lady Montilyet had led them to, casting a cursory glance about the antechamber.

The ambassador had been most generous in assigning their chambers, having housed them in a suite of well sized and beautifully furnished rooms. Tapestries adorned stone walls, fresh rushes and plush rugs were scattered liberally over the floors and a fire already crackled quietly in the sitting room.

'Lady Montilyet has certainly been thoughtful,' she commented over her shoulder to Alistair, sniffing at a vase of freshly cut roses that had been carefully placed at the sitting room's centre. Apparently the ambassador was aware that this particular variety was her favourite and she smiled, gently feeling the velvet petals 'with this much luxury provided you'd think we were some fat Orlesian nobles, not Fereldan. We'll have to make sure to thank her personally.'

'I'm sure she already knows.' Her husband called back, struggling at the outer door to keep Barkspawn out the rooms. She sniggered to hear the soft curses he uttered at the hound before he finally managed to wrestle him away from the door, shutting the heavy wood on the animal. Soft whimpers and scratches followed for a moment before the dog lost interest, settling down outside. Alistair rolled his eyes, closing the door to the antechamber behind him.

There was a moment of quiet, the hush of falling fabric and soft clink of buckles alerting her that he was slipping off his outer garments. When the quiet continued after he had finished, she turned, concerned at the lack of noise. It was not in his nature to be quiet for too long.

Sitting in a well padded chair to remove her boots she looked over to him.

'Alistair? Is everything well?'

The slight crinkle of his brow told her instantly that it was not.

'...'Lis, can we talk...?'

She froze at that, recognising immediately that he was displeased, her fingers stilling against the laces of her boots. Glancing up at him she met his gaze briefly. Worry seemed to war with anger for purchase on his face and she dropped her gaze, uneasy, to her boots again, continuing to unlace them. She knew exactly what this was going to be about.

'Of course,' she answered as smoothly as she could 'about what, my love?'

'You know what 'Lis. And you know how important it is that we get along with the Inquisition. We just better hope that no-one saw you laughing.'

'Alistair,' she soothed 'he's a dog, he does things like that.'

'Yes. And everyone knows what an insult that is, regardless of it being an accident. Maker, if anyone heard the comment you made about the throne as well...they'd think it was on purpose!'

She lifted her head to look at him again, letting her hair down from its tight bun.

'Well...it is a ghastly throne.'

'Not the point, 'Lis,' he frowned, 'And she knows, for that matter. She said last time I was here that she didn't like it herself.'

'Then why have it?'

He snorted at that.

'You know better than anyone about playing the part. Her Majesty Elizabeth Theirin and 'Lis are two very different people with very different tastes,' he paused, sighing, worry creasing his brow again 'This isn't like you. Why aren't you...bothered?'

'It's just...a little funny, is all. Come on, if we were in Orlais you'd find it hilarious.'

'Well we're not. The Inquisition is our ally, even if they're not sworn to us. They might be all that's stopping Orlais from causing trouble for us.'

'The peace treaties...'

'Are only there for appearances, 'Lis. You know that. Don't try to play the naivety card now,' he shook his head, his voice dropping to something softer 'You don't try to make enemies when you meet a new party. But you were...'

'I was..?'

He paused, clearly thinking better of what he'd been about to say.

'You could have been friendlier.'

'The Inquisition are allies. Not friends. You know the difference.'

'Inquisition, yes. Inquisitorrr,' he stressed the last word 'slightly different. She's a person. A nice one.'

'She was very...,' Elizabeth paused, looking to her husband once more, feeling guilt settle into her stomach. Making Alistair angry wasn't something she enjoyed, but making him upset was worse. '...curt.' She finished eventually, knowing he was waiting for an answer.

'As were you. She's probably just nervous. They don't get royalty here often, much less one's that have titles like 'hero of ferelden' attached to them.'

'Nervous? Why in all of Thedas would she be nervous?'

Alistair lifted an eyebrow.

'Well...you know, like I said. Royalty. Hero. Lots of other titles that she knows about. Lots of stories of heroics and you being well...you know,' he smiled, eyes softening as he looked at her '...you.'

He crossed the room, kneeling in front of her chair to take her hand, kissing the back of it briefly.

'Everyone's heard so much about you. Everyone knows the stories and they're all true, so...she's right to be nervous. You are wonderful, larger than life, and anyone who's not intimidated by that is a moron.'

She chuckled softly at that, stroking a hand through his strawberry blonde locks, ruffling them gently.

'I...suppose,' she bit her lip, the admission she wanted to make tightening her throat. For so long she had played the role of the confident leader, uncompromising, unshakeable that to admit she'd been wrong, to show weakness was difficult, even to her husband. 'I can...relate.'

Alistair lifted his head to look her in the eye, his own dark eyebrow lifting.

'You can?'

'...I'm...not the only one with an impressive array of titles. I was just expecting someone...'

'Larger than life?' her husband supplied helpfully, taking her hand as his broad grin returned.

She huffed.

'Yes.'

'So...what my beautiful queen is telling me...is that she's intimidated by the Inquisitor?' he teased gently.

Another huff and she broke eye contact this time, turning away, her arms folded.

'Yes.'

'You don't need to be.'

Elizabeth turned her head slightly, casting an eye down as he lay his head in her lap.

'Don't I?'

'Of course not.'

'Alistair...this woman...she's achieved far more than I ever have. And she's younger.'

'You were twenty when you became the Hero of Ferelden. Twenty one when you became Queen.'

'She's raised an army to match our own in just over a year, Alistair. They have nearly as much power in military terms and just as much in political terms. She defeated Corypheus, practically a God. There's no competition...'

Alistair kissed gently at her thigh, stroking through the thin material of her dress.

'You have nothing to fear, my love,' his eyes flicked up to meet hers once more 'and it's not a competition. You're both formidable women. You just...maybe need to scooch over a bit? I'm sure Thedas is big enough for the both of you.'

She rolled her eyes at that, his silly smile easing her and she leaned down to kiss gently at his forehead.

'You are right.'

He beamed.

'Of course I'm right. Do you think anyone with this much wit could be wrong?'

She couldn't help the soft laugh that followed, her husband never failing to make her smile. Shaking her head, she pushed him away gently, standing and stretching before making for the washroom. A basin and ewer of fresh water stood inside, as promised.

Alistair padded after her slowly as she began to undo the ties of her dress, leaning on the doorway.

'So...?'

'So...what?'

'Will you...?'

She sighed softly again.

'Yes, I'll try to be nicer to her.'

'Promise?'

'I promise.'

'Thank you.' he pushed off from the doorway, his shoulders falling as he visibly relaxed. Shucking off the leather jerkin he wore and the layers of cotton beneath, he moved to stand behind her, his large hands coming to rest on her shoulders as she slipped her dress off and stepped out of it.

She hummed quietly as his arms wrapped about her from behind, his lips falling to kiss gently at her shoulder. Firmly pressed against her, he swayed gently, rocking her as he buried his nose in her long hair.

'As much as I'm enjoying this, my sweet, I do need to wash this grime off.'

She turned in his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose.

'You're sure I can't...distract you, for a moment or two.'

'Later, you can distract me all you want. But I think it may be best to arrange this tour with the Inquisitor and her commander first.'

He huffed slightly.

'I suppose you're right. Ever practical, my love. Should I go and make arrangements?'

She shook her head lightly, watching as Alistair's hands gently traced down the fabric of her chemise.

'No. I think it may look better if I am the one to instigate this.'

'As my lady wishes.' He pulled away, kissing her softly once more before returning to the bedchamber to change from his travelling clothes.

Elizabeth washed quickly, running a cool cloth over her skin before shedding her chemise, returning to the bedchamber to find her husband stretched over the large bed in nothing but his smalls.

Smirking at the sight she slid up onto the bed, stretching out to lay on his back. His head turned at the extra weight, a copper eye cracking open to look at her.

'Something you need, my dear?'

'No...just...enjoying having you to myself properly.'

'Hmm....I guess living in a palace for so long helps you forget how terribly public tents actually are.'

She laughed as he shifted, rising onto her knees to allow him to turn onto his back, before settling down onto his stomach, hands resting on his broad chest.

'Some of us have been out in the field a little more recently than that, you know?'

'Not with someone else sharing a tent, I hope.'

She grinned.

'As if anyone could compare to the man I chose to marry,' she murmured, leaning down to kiss at his lower lip '...although...'

'Although?' Alistair lifted an eyebrow sharply 'What's although?'

She kissed softly at his lips again, coaxing a response from him as his thumbs began to rub light circles into her thighs.

'Commander Cullen is just as handsome as you said. If not more so.'

'Ah...yes, that. I'd almost forgotten you were interested in that sordid detail of my life.'

It had been only a short time after they had married that the subject of Commander Cullen, or just Cullen as he had been at the time, had come up. She had mentioned him in passing, recalling the events of Kinloch hold after a particulalry bad nightmare, remembering the state the young man had been in. The mention of his name had immediately grasped Alistair's attention at the time, though he had been unwilling to admit why. 

The result had been her relentlessly working every angle she could to get the information out of him for weeks on end, until eventually he had relented. Bashful, nervous, ashamed, the words had fallen of how she had not been his first, that the young man he had shared a dorm with had claimed that for himself some time earlier. He'd admitted, with the wringing of hands, that he had lain with the man more than once, that he had never told her because he was afraid that she would reject him for his perversions.

Instead, she had embraced him, easing his concerns with a smile and a hug, assuring him that not only was she not repulsed by the idea, but very much intrigued. And so he had come to sharing the details of his relationship with the strikingly handsome man that now commanded one of the largest armies in Thedas.

Shrugging easily, she kissed at the tip of his nose.

'No one could blame either of you. A shame that there can't be a re-enactment.'

He sat up at that, eyebrow cocked again, though the soft curve of his mouth suggested he was more interested in the idea than she had given him credit for.

'You'd actually like to see that? To watch me and Cullen...'

'Lay together? Yes,' she grinned as his hands traced her ribcage, his eyes alight with mischief and she could practically see him turning the idea over in his mind. A familiar twitch beneath her suggested that his mind wasn't the only part of him interested in the idea. 'I didn't ask for the details out of idle curiousity...why? Would you want to...again?'

The glint in his eye told her all she needed to know, and yet he hesitated to respond, chewing on that full lower lip of his.

'I...would,' he answered at length 'but...I don't think he or Artemis would agree.'

Her shoulders fell at that, disappointment running through her, cooling the warm tingle that his hands and words had started to conjure.

'You're right. Just because...,' she huffed softly, rolling off him to lie beside him, his arm curling around her to cradle her to his side '...I don't know what's gotten into me lately.'

He chuckled, kissing at the top of her head. 

'Nothing out of the ordinary, you have always been a minx. I wouldn't have you any other way.'

'Really? I'd think you'd want a wife who doesn't look at other men.'

'I want a wife who's comfortable enough to be honest with me. I want a wife who tells me what she wants and needs so I can make her happy,' his hand found hers, intertwining, bringing their wedding rings onto display 'When we put these on, I made a vow to do whatever it took to make you smile. And if it makes me smile in the process...all the better.'

She lifted a hand to stroke at his cheek.

'How lucky I am to have a husband who's so considerate and loving.'

'And adorable. Don't forget adorable. Oh, and manly.'

She sighed.

'And the moment is gone.'

He laughed loudly at that, rolling onto his side to kiss her temple before sitting up, his face turning suddenly serious.

'I would though, 'Lis, you know that, right? Anything to make you happy.'

She smiled softly, recognising the tenderness in her husband, the young man she had married a decade ago still lingering there. His loyalty, his passion and his uncompromising desire to give her the best he could had never wavered, not for even a moment. It was something that had always made her feel both incredibly loved and incredibly selfish, her fear that she wasn't good enough for him never truly assauged. 

A part of her had always worried that one day he would wake up and realise that she wasn't all she was cracked up to be. That she wasn't the queen or wife he deserved, that he could find someone better humoured, less prone to temperamental outbursts than she. Perhaps even someone who could make him the father she knew he longed to be, but wouldn't dare admit.

She glanced down to her flat stomach, her narrow hips and muscled thighs and turned her face away, worry and shame crawling over her. She'd heard the whispers at court, women who looked her up and down when they thought she didn't notice. The mutterings about how she would never make a suitable mother, her body too narrow of hip and small of breast, how she looked as though she would bow under the weight of a child in her belly. If they even managed to concieve, that was.

He was at her side in an instant, thick arms curling around her and pulling her close.

'Don't, Lis. Please don't,' his lips pressed to her ear, peppering kisses as he spoke 'I know that look. It's only been a few months since we took the cure and Avernus said it would probably take some time for our bodies to cleanse fully.'

'I...' she took her breath, steadying herself, allowing herself to relax into his arms 'I know. You are right. Again.'

'Hey now, don't say that too many times. Morrigan will find out you've been boosting my ego and magic herself here just to correct that.'

She had to laugh, his humour never changing, never failing to make her smile despite herself. For all the confidence he had built, all the skills and talents that he had uncovered, the core of him never changed and she couldn't be anything but thankful for that.

'Well...we wouldn't want that now, would we?'

'We certainly wouldn't,' he kissed at her cheek again, standing and pulling her up with him 'Now. How about we put some clothes back on, and go and try to patch things up with our hosts, hmm?'

She nodded softly, reaching up to dab at the wetness that had gathered in her eyes, halting when his thumb wiped it away for her.

'It will all be ok, Lis. I promise.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Kudos, comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.


	3. A chill wind blows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attempts to make amends don't quite go to plan for the unlucky foursome.

It was chilly. Out on Skyhold's battlements, the mountain air, crisp and fresh, wound between high stones walls and whistled through open windows, setting the trees to rustling and dropping their red tipped leaves. Autumn was well established and Cullen couldn't help but think that it would be a hard winter this year.

Still, it probably wouldn't be as cold as the look Artemis gave Queen Elizabeth when she and Alistair reappeared, some hours after their meeting earlier that afternoon. They had taken up the previous offer of a tour, the queen (or more likely, the king) probably deciding that clearing the air between herself and the Inquisitor would be a good idea. She had extended a polite request to the Inquisitor an hour or so ago, asking if they would be able to see the grounds of the castle; providing the Inquisitor was not otherwise engaged, of course.

Artemis couldn't afford to be otherwise engaged, even if she had wanted to be, she had muttered upon receiving the monarch's elegantly written note. And so he stood at her elbow now, offering quiet support and eyeing the couple standing before them, wondering just how in the void their women had gotten off on such a bad foot.

He understood of course, that having one's throne pissed on by a mabari – one that was conspicuously absent – was not generally considered polite, even if one didn't like the throne. Laughing about it, however, made the situation decidedly worse and though Cullen hadn't seen the queen behaving him such a way, he had to take Artemis's word for it. He had tried to suggest otherwise, that perhaps it had been a cough or a sneeze, or that the laughter was unrelated to the incident. Artemis had been having none of it and in the end had conceded the point. 

Cullen wasn't sure what to make of it himself. Whilst he was certain that the dog's behaviour had only been what dogs naturally do and not anything intentional on the queen's part, he wasn't sure why she had not been as appalled by it as Alistair had been. 

A flicker of anger worried at his gut, not for the first time, as he considered the possibility that she was attempting to undermine his lover's authority, or perhaps in some odd twist, displaying some sort of dominance – that she was the alpha hero in these parts. A notion he would scoff at in private. Ferelden and yes, Thedas too, owed her a great deal for stopping the fifth blight and he was eternally grateful for the help she had provided at Lake Kinloch all those years ago. All that being said, she was still no match for his own love when it came to heroics, queen or no.

In all honesty, if it were not for the fact that she was the Hero of Ferelden, he might have said something to her about it, politics be damned. But that, coupled with his trust in Alistair's faith and devotion to his wife, made him hold his tongue.

To his surprise, Queen Elizabeth was a little more cordial than she had been earlier, offering something more like a smile when greeting Artemis. His eyes flicked to Alistair, finding him watching his wife closely, though his attention flicked to him breifly when he sensed he was being watched. He gave a nervous smile and Cullen inclined his head in turn, a silent understanding that all was fine between them, if not between their ladies.

Taking a breath of the crisp air, he turned his attention back to the women. They were speaking quietly, politely, if a little formally, but he took the fact that they were speaking at all had to be a positive. In fact, as he watched, the queen seemed to be more animated than she had been at their last meeting, and he wondered if it had simply been the long trip that had soured her so.

A little more relaxed, he looked back to Artemis. His love's shoulders were pulled back, her spine straightened as though she were standing to attention, but the pale blue of her eyes was calm for now. Brushing a lock of honey gold hair back behind her ear, she lifted her chin, holding the queen's gaze levelly.

It probably didn't help that the warden was so much taller than her, he mused. Queen Elizabeth was alarmingly tall, only a few inches shorter than he, a good match for her king's impressive stature. By comparison, Artemis was dwarfed by all three of them, her head falling just short of Cullen's chin. He wondered if it made her feel inferior to the other woman, as if somehow her physical presence had any bearing on her position.

'It is an impressive view,' the queen's words broke through his thoughts for a moment as she strode to the edge of the battlements, looking out over the valley Skyhold nestled in 'Someone must have been very determined to build this place.'

'I gather they were, though no-one quite seems to know the history of the fortress. Solas mentioned something about it shortly before we arrived, but...' Artemis trailed off, shrugging slightly.

'Ah...a shame. Solas...he was one of your companions, I assume?'

There was a pause before Artemis nodded.

'Yes. He left...jus after we defeated Corypheus.'

'I see. The trouble with all these people coming together for a cause is that once that cause is fulfilled...there's often little to hold you together,' she smiled sadly for a moment, before shaking her head, as if that would clear away the thoughts '...still, always one or two that remain inseperable after such things.' 

Alistair smiled broadly at his wife as she caught his gaze and Cullen looked away, feeling as if he was intruding on some intimate moment.

He couldn't help but letting his eyes stray back to her a moment later though, sizing up the Hero of Ferelden. She hadn't changed much, physically at least. Not that he remembered the events of ten years ago particularly well, nor did he want to, but he recalled vaguely that she was just as slender as she had been back then, more so now that she wasn't wearing leather armour; just as tall and just as fair.

She hadn't had the wicked scar that graced her face then, but it seemed to be an old wound nevertheless. The depth of the cut had left an indentation, no doubt a heavy slash from a knife or claw that had perhaps been intended for her neck, the skin around it slightly taut. It pulled as she spoke, the deep pink curve not quite stretching enough, the knot at her earlobe dipping with the movement of her jaw.

Still, it didn't detract overmuch, the rest of her skin pale and smooth though her nose and cheeks were steadily reddening in the cold air. She smiled briefly as she spoke, a shallow dimple appearing in her cheek for just a moment, the appearance of it oddly sweet on her sharply featured face and he found himself examining her more earnestly, taking in the dark blue of her eyes, the sweep of her nose, over the defined line of her jaw, trailing down to the long line of her neck to...

'Cullen.'

His name was sharp in his ears and he looked to the rest of the company, finding all three staring at him.

'Queen Elizabeth was enquiring as to the camp arrangements.' Artemis informed him, her voice tight and he caught the flickering glare. He'd been caught red-handed all but ogling the queen.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling awkward, looking to the royal couple. To their credit, they both seemed amused by his behaviour, rather than offended.

'My apologies, your Majesty. I had something of a sleepless night...what was your question?'

She shook her head, laughing gently, a few locks of her swept back hair falling free with the motion. It softened the strong lines of her face, adding a gentleness to her.

'It's of no concern, Commander. Would you mind if we walked, Inquisitor? The wind is a little sharp.'

Artemis nodded politely, gesturing for the queen to step forwards and Cullen fell into step behind her, Alistair pacing at his side. The king was uncharacteristically quiet, his amber eyes flicking back and forth between the women, as he studied them. At first he had thought the man was attempting to gauge their interactions, but after a moment of watching him, that appeared to not be the case; his eyes were taking a more southerly path.

The king of Fereleden was, in fact, watching the Inquisitor's arse. His eyes were dark as they followed the pendulous motion of her hips, though he flicked back to Elizabeth on occasion, taking in his wife's familiar form with just as much pleasure.

Not that Cullen could blame him for studying Artemis's backside, and he stifled a chuckle, well aware of how enticingly those broad hips moved. Artemis was as curvaceous as Elizabeth was slender, the women an utter contrast to each other. The queen moved like...well, a queen, smooth and graceful, a sharp contrast to Artemis's livelier motions, the sway of rounded buttocks drawing the eye easily.

Elizabeth though...his attention strayed back to her, how she held herself tall and straight as she walked, the soft glide of her gait, the gentle curve of her narrow waist and her legs...

A gust of wind blew suddenly, as if reacting to his thoughts. Though the queen's dress was hardly flimsy, the strong gust pressed the material to her form, outlining the stretch of slim, endless legs.

He blinked, pulling his attention back to the conversation, concerned about his reactions. He'd not considered being attracted to another woman since he had met Artemis, despite having been aware that there were plenty of attractive females about Skyhold. Josephine and Leiliana were just as beautiful as any other woman, and the witch, Morrigan, though she'd exuded a sense of power that he'd been eager to avoid, was irrefutably fair with her dark eyes and dark hair.

None of them had caught his attention like Artemis though. Not until the queen had appeared, at least.

The women paused again at the sudden gust, turning back and Cullen noted how the king's eyes flicked to the Inquisitor's full chest, lingering briefly. The expression on Elizabeth's face suggested that she knew full well that her husband's eye was straying, though she didn't seem overly concerned by it.

Another gust of wind blasted onto the battlements again, catching Elizabeth's light frame from behind, pushing her forward to bump into Alistair. His arm curled around her instantly, fitting snugly into the slight curve of her waist and pulled her against him firmly, away from the wind's gusting. In a moment of affection he pressed his lips to her temple gently, smiling warmly at his wife before she returned the gesture, offering him a quick peck on the lips.

The display surprised Cullen, and Artemis too if her expression was anything to go by. Aristocrats rarely displayed any sort of emotion at all, but then Alistair was hardly your standard noble and he supposed Elizabeth must have come to understand and even appreciate that, judging by her ease in her husband's arms, despite their audience.

He felt a sudden pang of guilt, looking to Artemis. Although their relationship was well established and well known by now, they still maintained a more professional air when in the eye of the rest of the Inquisition. They had felt it was better to keep their relationship as private as possible, even when everyone else already knew, but he wondered now if she ever resented any of that, when the two royals seemed so unconcerned about it.

'We should probably get back into the keep, it's getting a bit cold and the weather looks like it's due to change for the worse,' Artemis commented, breaking the moment between Alistair and his wife and they shuffled apart. 'Commander, if you'd guide us back.'

Cullen blinked, startled by the use of his title from her lips, drawing his gaze away from the couple to his own partner. She wasn't best pleased, that much was obvious and he agreed quickly, turning back the way they had come, Alistair falling into place beside him again, listening carefully to the women.

They walked in silence for a moment before the warden attempted to break it again.

'I gather that Leiliana was your spymaster before she was appointed divine, yes?'

'She was.' 

Cullen almost winced at the suddenly frosty tone Artemis was employing, more so than before. Any pretence that she had been trying to be friendly to the queen seemed to have been dropped and Cullen knew that his ogling was the cause. Odd, because he'd never seen her truly jealous before, even when blatantly flirtatious nobles had fluttered their eyelashes at him.

Elizabeth had clearly picked up on the sudden change too.

'Oh...I had wondered if you'd had much contact with her since. I know she's terribly busy these days but she seems to find time to write most weeks. Somehow.'

A glance back and Artemis's face had become pinched.

'She does...on occasion. Not regularly.'

The inference was clear. Artemis hadn't had as much contact with Leiliana as the queen had, though he supposed the two redheads were old friends, so it would stand to reason that they would speak more. Although Leiliana had become more friendly after Artemis's aid in her personal matters, she had never truly opened up to her. 

The news that she was not considered one of Leiliana's closest contacts must have stung.

'Oh. I see. My apologies, Inquisitor, I didn't mean to assume...' Elizabeth faltered, clearly aware of her faux pas '...anything.' she finished lamely.

Alistair chose that exact moment to weigh in.

'Pfft. She only ever talks about those blasted nugs of hers anyway,' he griped, ' _"Oh, Mr. Schmooples, you look so delightful in cornflower blue silk," _' his voice pitched into a high falsetto, adopting a poor attempt at an Orlesian accent ' _"we must trim it with the finest lace from Val Royeaux and find you some matching shoes. Mmmm, shoes." _'.____

Amusement bubbled in Cullen's chest at Alistair's mockery, and despite the heavy air of tension lingering about them, Cullen couldn't help the laugh that burst from himself. Although the accent was completely off, the subject material couldn't have been more accurate. Behind him there was a series of muffled snorts and he turned to see Elizabeth attempting to stifle her laughter in the long sleeve of her dress.

Artemis, to her credit, hadn't fallen for Alistair's attempt at distraction, though her lips quivered into a brief smile before she wiped it away again. He wasn't having it though, turning his full attention to her, cocking his head quizzically, a slow but brilliant smile creeping over his lips.

It didn't take long before she gave in, his cheerful nature somehow drawing her out of her bad mood, just as it did with most people he met. He gave a quick wink before continuing down the battlement.

Cullen fell into step beside him once more, listening to him continue with his awful impression of Leiliana.

' _"And we must find you a lady, Mr.Schmooples, and you will have the most darling babies in all of Thedas. And we will dress the boys in blue silk and the girls in pink silk with bonnets and clogs, and you'll be the cutest nug family ever to have existed." _'__

He gestured grandly as he spoke, his hands flailing about him and Cullen had to dodge a limb more than once. Behind them, the girls cackled.

'I'd be careful if I were you, Alistair,' Cullen spoke, forgetting titles as they fell back into familiarity 'If news of this gets back to our Lady Nightingale you may well have a dagger to the throat one night.'

Alistair grinned, unconcerned.

'Or a nug to the face.'

He laughed again, freely now, not failing to notice how he had drifted closer to the king. They were within touching distance, hands almost brushing as they walked, almost close enough to feel the gentle heat radiating of each other's skin.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they walked, Alistair's familiar smile never wavering and Cullen couldn't help but watch him from the corner of his eye. Though he had reunited with the man at his last visit, he still couldn't believe the difference between the young man he had said goodbye to over a decade ago and the king walking beside him now.

He had grown taller since they had parted ways as teenagers, a bare inch or so over his own height now and he'd broadened out nicely, well muscled where he'd once been lanky. Watching him quietly, he let his eyes wander over his friend's familiar features. Until his voice jolted him out of his thoughts again;

'Something on my face, Commander, or do you just see something that you like?'

The flirtation was bold, blatant, and even Alistair seemed taken aback by his choice of words, as if they had tumbled out of his mouth without even thinking about them. Knowing him, they probably had, and Cullen didn't fail to notice the flustered blush that warmed his cheeks a moment later. Or that his own cheeks were now uncomfortably warm, his hands reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, unsure of what to say.

'I...sorry,' the king fumbled, words falling freely once more '...that was...I shouldn't have...' he laughed nervously.

'No, it's... I mean, I wasn't...' Cullen sighed heavily, fingers tight on his own neck 'It was merely a joke, right?'

Alistair nodded quickly, that bottom lip pulled between his teeth momentarily and Cullen felt a pang of want just looking at it.

'Yes. Of course, just a stupid joke, that's me all over, right?'

There was a sudden hurt in his tone of voice and Cullen cursed inwardly. He hadn't meant to reject him, but with Artemis in the picture, not to mention the man's own wife, there was no room for that part of their past anymore.

'I only meant...the...,' another heavy sigh 'nevermind.'

Silence returned, suddenly opressive and uncomfortable and Cullen couldn't miss the way Alistair turned away from him, looking out over the battlements as they walked. A moment later and his wife was at his side, her arm curling about his waist. 

On any other couple, it would appear to be just a simple act of affection, but the protective nature of it was clear to him when she moved in against his body, as if providing physical support. The king's own arm curled about his wife's shoulders, pulling them together as much as their gaits would allow.

Clear blue eyes met his own as she moved in closer to her husband, sharp and angry, a clear warning in her gaze and in just a few seconds, he came to understand how such a delicate looking woman could take down an archdemon. The strength of her conviction was clear enough.

Guilt gnawed at him. He hadn't meant to offend, hadn't wanted to hurt. If things were different, he might well have welcomed the flirtation but...

A touch to the palm of his hand caught his attention and he looked down to she Artemis intertwining her small hand with his, offering her own form of comfort. There was anger in her eyes still at his earlier behaviour, but confusion even more so, not quite understanding what had occurred between the men. The knowledge that he couldn't even explain it to her only served to frustrate him more.

He smiled tightly, curling his fingers against hers, wishing he could take as much comfort in her gesture as Alistair did in Elizabeth's.

It seemed to take an age to get back to the keep, all attempt at conversation abandoned, the couples retreating into themselves and it was a relief to step into the warm glow of the main hall, signalling the end of their short tour.

'Well, that was a...most interesting tour, Inquisitor, Commander. I thank you for sparing your own time to show us around,' Elizabeth spoke clearly, back into what seemed to be her 'queen-mode', her back straight and chin held high 'I wonder if you might excuse us from this evening's proceedings? I suspect we're both feeling a little fatigued.'

She looked to her husband and Alistair merely nodded in response, clearly happy to follow his wife's lead on this.

Artemis, to her credit, Cullen thought, looked remarkably calm. The monarchs were no doubt aware that there was typically a large celebratory meal on the day of their arrival and for them to be absent could be considered a snub on their part. At the very least, it would make the Inquisition look like a poor host to a couple of such magnitude. 

Her hand tightened in his own before she spoke.

'Of course, your Majesty, whatever makes your stay most enjoyable. Should I assume that you would prefer to take this evening's meal in your suite?'

'That would be ideal, thank you, Lady Trevelyan. I'll send word with a runner in the morning to arrange our agenda, yes?'

'As it please your Majesty. Would you like a guide back to your suite?'

'No, I think we'll manage. Thank you again, Inquisitor, Commander,' she nodded at each of them in turn 'I bid you a good evening.'

There was an exchange of polite smiles, and Cullen gave a small bow as the monarchs retreated to their chambers once more, all the while aware of the growing headache at his temples. All this feigned politeness was a source of great frustration to him and whilst his own rulers clearly weren't playing 'The Game' as the Orlesians did, their social standing still demanded a certain level of pontification.

Artemis sighed heavily once their guests were out of sight and he pulled her aside into Josephine's currently empty office.

'That...could have gone better.' He remarked at length, watching his lover's hands clench into fists briefly.

'What in the void happened? It seemed to be going ok and then all of a sudden you and the king looked like you were having a stand off? And then the queen...and you were...'

He took a step towards her, pulling her against him gently, soothing her worries.

'I...think I owe you an explanation. After dinner?'

She looked up to him, her pale blue eyes showing her own weariness at the day's events before she nodded. 

'Alright. Now...let's go and explain to Josephine that we've managed to alienate our most important guests to date.'

He gave a short laugh, pulling her against him once more, kissing at her the top of her honey-blonde head.

'Fancy a wager?'

A dark blonde eyebrow lifted.

'A wager? What on? You do remember that you're terrible at these things, right?'

He smiled, regardless.

'Yes. But I still bet you that our ambassador shrieks and runs straight to their quarters to apologise.'

She sniggered quietly into his breastplate, fingers tangled in the worn fabric of his surcoat.

'I bet you a back rub and a foot massage that she takes a tray of cheese with her.'

'I'll take that bet. Now, let's deal with the rest of these blasted nobles before this headache gets any worse. I've half a mind to give you that back rub whether I win the bet or not.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	4. Gentle Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis and Cullen have a few words...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stayed with the story so far and especially to those who've kudos'd, subscribed and commented. We're now at 51 kudos which is the highest for any piece so far that I've written so I'm more than chuffed at the moment. 
> 
> On another note, I'm hoping that this chapter is enjoyable.
> 
> Mildly NSFW bits at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Thanks again and please enjoy :)

The keep was gossiping. 

From servants and stable hands to the lesser nobles and visiting ambassadors, Skyhold fortress was atwitter with hearsay about the visiting Fereldan royalty and their awkward interaction with the Inquisitor and her Commander.

Artemis knew it already, lying face down in bed, attempting to burrow into the pillow as if it might lead her into a less demanding world. It didn't and she huffed and sighed and groaned into the sheets before eventually flipping onto her back, finding her lover sat on the bed beside her, already dressed.

There was a plate of toast in his hand.

'Breakfast in bed?' He offered the item in question, watching her carefully as she took a buttered slice.

'Why?' The question came out sharper than she had intended, and she noted the way his eyebrows lifted a fraction, suprised and suddenly wary. He shrugged, as if he hadn't noticed it.

'Yesterday...didn't go so well. I was hoping to start you off with a better day. Even if this is as good as it gets.'

He paused and she couldn't help the smile that flittered over her lips at his thoughtfulness, his never wavering attentiveness. He wasn't off the hook yet though, not when he'd been ogling another woman as if they hadn't been in a committed relationship for over a year.

'Speaking of yesterday,' she murmured, sitting up to look at him more sternly 'you were going to do some explaining. And yet you never did, you seemed to get rather distracted.'

'To be fair, I believe it was you who was distracted, I merely served as the distraction.'

A flash of memory caught her, blurs of sensation and tangled limbs, the sweet friction of his nude body against hers. 

She blushed. He smirked, smug, his damnably attractive scar that she was so drawn to twitching.

'Yes well...be that as it may...'

He smiled again, offering her a cup of tea this time, the delicate china cup small in his large hand. His smile wavered a second later.

'Be that as it may...I still owe you an explanation...and an apology.' 

She paused, toast half way to her mouth, teacup pinched between finger and forethumb. She knew exactly what he wanted to apologise for, and the thought of it sent bolt of anger and jealousy through her.

Oh, she had caught him red handed staring at the queen, his golden eyes tracing her lithe frame, her beautiful face and those damned long legs. Her hand tightened on the teacup unconsciously to think of the way he had looked at her, the desire clear in his gaze. He had looked at her like that before, when they were first together, when their relationship was new and exciting. He still did, truth be told, still devoted and attentive and she struggled to stay angry at him when he looked at her like that, his gentle eyes almost mournful.

'I am sorry,' he murmured, taking her hand tentatively and she felt the anger begin to ebb 'I shouldn't have...there's no one else, Artemis. No one I could ever want like I want you.'

'But you do...don't you?' she asked quietly, the jealousy not yet abated, the hurt not yet gone 'You do want her.'

He opened his mouth to answer, his brow pinched but she cut him off before he managed to get the words out.

'I can't blame you. She is stunning, isn't she?' 

The words had her looking down over her body, obscured by fine sheets. She felt dumpy in comparison, broad and heavy.

'I wonder how you could ever have wanted me in the first place...and now, well, how could you ever want me again after seeing her?'

'Have you seen you?' he asked quietly, his gloved fingers tightening around hers, his thumb stroking across the back of her hand ' You're beautiful, Artemis. Besides, I'm not the only one who wants you.'

She cocked an eyebrow at that, doubtful.

'Meaning?'

'You didn't see the way Alistair was looking at you? Maker's breath, Artemis, the man's completely taken with you.'

Something fluttered in her stomach at the thought, excitement and nervousness, though it was doubt that prevailed, dictating her words.

'He's married.'

'And? That means he doesn't have eyes? I...admit I don't like the thought of another man looking at you like that but...he did and...for Alistair, I think I can make allowances.'

He shifted further up the bed, taking her free hand to place a kiss in her palm, his golden eyes hopeful as he looked up at her. The residual anger finally melted away and she sighed quietly, moving her hand to run it through his curls.

'I suppose it was only looking. It doesn't do any harm...I just,' she sighed again as he shifted to lie beside her ' She's so...superior, isn't she? The way she speaks and walks and just...is.'

'She is a queen, my love. I appreciate that it doesn't make poor behaviour any more acceptable, but as long as she isn't threatening, or overtly rude, she's within her rights. And, you may not believe me, but I don't think she means any harm.'

'But she walks around like she's the queen of Skyhold, not just Ferelden. That comment about Leiliana. I made friends with people too. I'm not just some figure. And I've done just as much as she has, gone through just as much.'

Her hands balled in the sheets as she spoke, anger flaring again. To be made to feel small and insignificant in her own castle...

'And she's just so pretty, and so capable and...and,' she faltered as Cullen's arms curled about her, pulling her into the cool steel of his breastplate '...and it's no surprise that she managed to be Leiliana's and Morrigan's friend and I'm just...the Inquisitor.'

'You are far more than just the Inquisitor to a lot of people, Artemis. You know this,' There was a quiet clink as he slipped his gloves off, dropping them to the floor so he could stroke her cheek. 'I know you feel inadequate, and I know it makes you angry that she makes you feel that way...but you have no reason to. There are so many people here who owe you so much, they would tell you in a heartbeat that there's no competition.'

He kissed gently at her temple.

'You think I could take her in a slapping contest?' she asked quietly, attempting to cheer herself, and he chuckled quietly.

'Of that, I have no doubt. But...if I may make a suggestion...perhaps a truce between the two of you may serve us all better? I don't believe she meant any harm when she was speaking of Leiliana yesterday.'

'I...I suppose you are right. She did seem more friendly. Up until...' she trailed off, brow creasing as she considered yesterday's events, recalling the moment Alistair's face had crumbled at Cullen's words.'...what did you say to him?'

'Ah yes...that. I had hoped that maybe we could not discuss that.'

He pulled away, rubbing at his neck once more, his cheeks turning a furious shade of scarlet. He stood after a moment, moving away from the bed and Artemis felt unease settle into her stomach.

'Cullen?'

'I...have an admission. I am sorry that I didn't tell you sooner, but I never thought it would come up again. It was so long ago and we were both so young...'

'What?' she asked cautiously, attempting to keep her voice even so as not to startle him, despite the alarm creeping up her spine 'What...did the two of you do?'

Her thoughts raced, jumping to conclusions, racing through scenarios, unable to comprehend what would make her commander so agitated that he was afraid to share it with her.

'I...you trust that I love you, yes? That I would never betray you or hurt you or...' his armed dropped from his neck suddenly as he stopped speaking, golden eyes focusing on her with such uncertainty that her stomach knotted '...I won't blame you if you wish to end our relationship.'

Fear lanced through her at his words, not at the thought of what he might have done, but at the idea he would think she could ever possibly want to leave him.

'Cullen...there's nothing you could do or say to make me not love you. Just please, come here, sit down and tell me.'

He caught her gaze, worry creasing his brow before he relented, walking with heavy footfalls back to the bed, settling down near her knees, as if he felt the need to be able to make a quick retreat.

'You... recall me saying that Alistair and I were close friends whilst we were at the Chantry?'

She nodded quickly.

'Well I may have...omitted some of the details. We became...I do not know what name you would give it but...' he paused, swallowing, eyes darting to hers then away. His hands twitched in his lap, a tick she recognised as the start of a bout of withdrawal. She had learnt quickly that stress, in particular, could set off his need for the substance.

She moved to cover his hands with her own, alarmed when he pulled back from her, his movements lacking his usual grace. Again, he caught her gaze and dropped it before he murmured the words:

'We were in a...physical relationship, I suppose.'

His words gave her pause, confusion warring with her concern for him, clouding her mind for a moment. Though their meaning was clear enough, she struggled to believe what he was telling her.

'You're saying that you and Alistair were...lovers?'

He twitched.

'I don't know if you would call it lovers but we were, ah...that is...'

'You had sex. With each other. You two?' The words were blunt, uncompromising as she spoke her mind, straightening the thought out in her head. Distantly, she registered that Cullen had recoiled slightly, his body tense, as if readying to flee.

'I...see.' She murmured eventually, looking up at her partner. She could well understand his hesitance in telling her. Although Dorian had been open enough about his own relations, and she had never objected to that, she could see how he could feel it would be different with him.

'I...I should go.' he muttered, standing to leave, a hand lifting to rub at his temple and she fumbled for him immediately, grasping at his arm.

'Cullen,' she tugged gently as her grip halted him, and he turned to look sheepishly over his shoulder, tremors running through his hand as she held it.

Images raced through her mind once more, and she paused to picture it; the sight of king and commander kissing, pressed together, nude flesh moulded to one another's form. 

To her surprise, it was not revulsion that washed over her at the concept, but arousal. 

She stamped down on it quickly. Accepting that her lover had once committed a carnal sin with another man was one thing; but to enjoy it? She shook her head, clearing the thoughts, turning her attention back to him.

'I...don't know how I feel about this,' she spoke quietly, confused at her own reactions, unwilling to admit them to him, disgust at herself taking hold 'but...I know that I'm not repulsed and...it doesn't change how I feel about you, Cullen.'

Relief washed over his tense frame immediately, shoulders falling and he took a step towards her again, hesitant but hopeful.

'It doesn't?'

She shook her head, pulling him back down towards her until he settled onto the bed again.

'It couldn't. I doubt there's much that could.'

She reached up to him once more, her fingers gentle against his cheek and he relaxed into her touch as though it was lyrium, chasing away his fears and aches.

'Thank you,' he murmured softly, eyes closed as he kissed her palm, 'I don't know what I would do if you...' he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence and she leaned into him, a soft kiss against the scar on his lip.

'You have nothing to thank me for, Cullen. I admit it'll take me some time to get used to but, that's about it.'

He nodded, golden gaze opening to meet hers, relief and warmth as he looked at her.

'So...what exactly did you say to Alistair?'

'Ah...that. I...' he rubbed at his neck again as she pulled him down to lie beside her once more. The tremors in his arms lessening '...he...tried to court me. He said something about liking his face and I didn't know how to react. I don't think he did either, he seemed surprised.'

'And?'

'And I...well, I asked if it was a joke. He got offended,' he frowned as he spoke, worry darkening his face 'I don't know what happened, it just...suddenly went wrong. I didn't intend to offend him I just wanted him to be clear on where we stood and...'

'And he took it the wrong way?'

'I..maybe. I could said it better,' he sighed softly, eyes closing 'He's never been very good with rejection, but I panicked and then...'

'We can sort it out, I'm sure. Do you think he'll take it to heart?'

'I suspect he will but...if I can speak with him, I may be able to make amends.'

She smiled lightly.

'I think we both have some of that to do.'

She felt the smile against her collarbone, the soft slow curve of his lips against her skin.

'It would seem so.'

'I think I understand the queen's reaction now though. Do you think she knows?'

'About Alistair and I? I have no doubt he's told her. He's not very good at keeping secrets. Well, other than the whole bastard king issue.'

'She's so protective of him.'

He hummed lightly against her, agreeing.

'I think it's hard to meet Alistair and not be protective of him, once you get to know him,' he suggested 'He has that sort of...hurt puppy air about him.'

'So I'd noticed.'

He glanced up at her.

'Alistair may complain an undue amount but, in his defense,' he paused, as if wondering if he should say what he was thinking '...He was never very happy as a child. I think he struggles with that still.'

'I wasn't criticising, Cullen. I think he's rather adorable.'

A soft snort followed.

'You've said that about me before.'

'Ah, well, that's definitely true. You are, when you want to be.'

There was a soft grumble from him, a distinct mutter under his breath before he sat up, looking to her and she smiled at him gently, coaxing his own from him.

'We should probably get to work,' he spoke, breaking her gaze to look out at the balcony 'I imagine our guests will be having breakfast by now. I want to know if the warden appetite is a real thing, or if Alistair's as much of a glutton as I suspect he is.'

'You mean, you want to see if the queen eats like a pig too?' she joked and he laughed gently in reponse.

'I would say he eats more like a duck. Pigs tend to chew.'

She laughed loudly at that, humour bubbling through her chest, easing her worries as he extended a hand to her, pulling her from the warmth of her bed. It wasn't far from the truth; Alistair had been seen all but gulping down food, as if he were starving at every meal. It would be a sight to see, if the queen were to behave the same way.

Clambering from the bed she pulled a fresh set of clothes from the dresser, watching from the corner of her eye as Cullen pulled his gloves back onto shaking hands. She crossed to him quickly, taking his hands in hers once more, looking up to him.

'If you need some time...'

He shook his head quickly.

'It will pass in a moment. It's not as intense as it used to be.'

'If you're certain...'

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her body shuddering at the cool metal of his armour. 

'Your concern is enough to help me endure.'

Warmth bubbled through her chest at his sentiment, warming her skin with a rosy glow and he leaned into her further, arms curling around her. She sighed to be in his embrace again, warm and comfortable, never more content than when he held her, feeling his nose press to the crown of her head.

'Are you certain there's nothing I can do to...remedy it?' she glanced back to their unmade bed, lifting an eyebrow slyly.

'Again? Maker's breath, to think people believe the Herald of Andraste is pure.'

'And is there anything wrong with being impure, commander?'

She leant back in his arms, meeting his gaze as she did so, keenly aware when his attention wandered further south, down the bare lines of her body.

'Not in the slightest, my lady.'

His lips were on hers a moment later, soft and warm, the quietest groan escaping him as she pushed back against him. She knew very well that he couldn't feel her through the steel of his armour and so she settled for pouring everything into her kiss, hands tangling into lightly oiled curls.

Gloved palms moved down her back quickly, dragging and kneading until they came to rest on her full backside, his lips nipping a path down her neck. He pulled away only to grunt into her ear;

'Bed?'

'Definitely bed.'

He was propelling her backwards a moment later, pushing her down onto unkempt linens, the lines of pain that lyrium had etched into his face fading in the wake of his lust. Hands gripped at her thighs, parting her legs for him to lie between, the weight of his body on top of hers, lips returning to nip at her neck travelling ever downwards to...

'Inquisitor!'

The shout came suddenly, accompanied by a hesitant, if urgent, banging at the door to her chambers.

Cullen stilled above her, eyes rolling as he shook his head, signalling for her to ignore the call. She smiled, leaning up to kiss him again...

'Lady Trevelyan!' the call came again, this time followed by the quiet creak of her door being opened 'My lady, I apologise for disturbing you but the matter is urgent. We beg your presence in the main hall.'

She sighed heavily, disappointment cooling her own passion even as Cullen pulled away from her, clearly displeased at the interruption.

'A moment. Just give me a moment and tell whoever's involved I'll be there shortly.'

'Very good, my lady.'

The door clicked shut a moment later, footsteps receding and she huffed to herself as she stood to dress, pulling on her undergarments.

'I do hope that's not our royal guests.' She murmured, catching sight of Cullen's unamused expression.

'You're sure it can't wait, even if it is?'

'Unfortunately, I'm sure.' she leaned up to place a peck on his cheek, only to have hands grip her suddenly, pulling her against him once more.

'You can't leave me like this, surely?' he murmured, pulling her hand against his crotch, the hardness there apparent.

'I'm afraid I'm going to have to, my good sir,' she kissed at him again, feeling his frown against her lips and she gave a teasing squeeze for good measure before pulling away. 'Consider it your penance for looking at another woman.'

Clothing arranged appropriately, she turned from him, throwing a playful smile over her shoulder before descending the stairs, catching his breathy words as she walked away;

'Andraste preserve me woman, but you'll be the death of me.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I really hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> As always, kudos, comments and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated and I'd particularly love some feedback on this (my beta thinks my version of Cullen is too much of a softy, so if someone could help settle that particular debate that'd be great).
> 
> Until next time :)


	5. An evening to remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Cullen might be able to settle things amicably, but the ladies are just getting started.

Alistair hated balls.

Hated them.

From the endless stream of faceless guests and their boring chit chat to the uncomfortable dressy attire he was required to wear and all manner of rules and etiquette to follow. He hated all of it.

The sole redeeming feature was usually the meal, but that had been and gone already and had left him wanting. Not that that Inquisition wasn't generous with its food portions of course, but he was constantly reminded of the need to appear cultured in front of the assorted guests. Which meant he couldn't dive face first into the pile of pastries that had been presented as dessert, followed by the ever alluring cheese board.

No, instead he had sat and squirmed, eyeing the food in what he hoped was a surreptitious manner. Elizabeth had sat beside him, eating only the delicately sized portions that were considered acceptable, all the while keeping a keen ear on the nearby conversation and nudging him whenever his input or attention was required.

They made a marvellous team, he mused, quietly directing his groomsman to stow away select items of food before secreting them away to their chambers so that Elizabeth could eat her fill without prying eyes.

Which was exactly what she was doing now, having left under the pretence of changing into something more befitting the evening's festivities.

And so he stood in the main hall, alone, trying to avoid attention or conversation. He moved as quietly as he could through the crowds, offering a smile or a nod where appropriate, trying to do what Elizabeth had taught him to do so many years ago; mingle with the party goers and listen for gossip.

It wasn't hard to find, and it was all on the subject he had expected; the Inquisitor and the Queen's awkward interactions.

'...scandalous, I'd say. Has she forgotten how to conduct herself at court? Too much time wandering those deep roads looking for Maker-knows-what.'

'But the Inquisitor, she must be careful. It would not do to lose favour with the Theirins. They are one of the oldest bloodlines in Thedas.'

'True enough...'

He sidled away, bored and irritated by the conversation he'd heard multiple times from multiple masks.

'I do hope his Majesty is enjoying the festivities.' The voice came from behind him, instantly recognisable in its depth and smooth tones.

'Commander.' He replied curtly, turning his head just enough to indicate he had his attention.

Cullen appeared at his shoulder a moment later, his expression carefully neutral.

'Our Lady Ambassador would be upset to think her guests are not enjoying themselves.' He continued.

'I assume you have a point, Commander?' He asked quietly, keeping his head turned away. He wasn't sure how to deal with the other man at the moment. 

Since their uncomfortable moment on the ramparts they had not been alone together, and the women had made up for the silence between them. Although somehow the women's cool tones and clipped words had been more icy than any silence he and Cullen could produce. It had been days since they'd arrived and relations between the ladies had not improved any, neither of them willing to resolve their differences.

'I...,' the uncertainty in Cullen's voice caught his attention, pulled at it, and he found himself turning to the other man, meeting his eyes levelly, 'I had hoped to speak with you. Privately.'

He eyed him for a moment, feeling his stomach turn slightly. Did he not think he had got the message the other day? He'd made himself perfectly clear, and though he hadn't even intended to bring the subject up in the first place, the commander had curtailed it with devastating efficacy. 

But, still...he couldn't blame him. He had his own partner now. It would be foolish to think that after all this time there could be something of their old ways left. 

His fist clenched before he nodded calmly, gesturing for the other man to lead the way.

They didn't go far, slipping into the Ambassador's office just off the main hall, away from the curious eyes of the other guests.

Alistair settled against the dark wood of the desk, leaning against it in what he hoped was a casual air as Cullen scrubbed at his nape.

'You know, normally when I go into deserted offices with people, I'm the one who gets to make the other feel small and inferior,' he folded his arms, heading cocking as he regarded the other man, 'But I get the impression that ball's in your court this time.'

Cullen lifted a brow, eyeing him curiously.

'Literally, in this case,' he sniggered to himself, distracting himself from his own unease as he glanced back to the stern faced commander, '...No? Nothing?'

'Alistair.' Cullen interrupted, his voice pitched low and the monarch shut his mouth immediately. Apparently levity was not the way forward this time.

Silence reigned as Cullen paced back and forth across the room, his feet kicking up dirt from the carpet as he did. After a moment he stopped, looking up to the ceiling as if he would find the answer there, shaking his head before turning to fix Alistair with a hard stare.

He swallowed thickly.

'Cullen, I...'

'No!' the word came out as a bark, 'Just...don't talk, Alistair. For once, just let me say what I need to.'

The commander sighed heavily, turning to face him.

'You always...you always had to make things worse, didn't you? Always had to make things confusing.'

Alistair snorted lightly.

'Well, you know me. I aim to please. If, you know, confusion is pleasing to you. But you're going to have to help me out here, because I got a very clear picture the other day. So what's this about?'

Golden eyes flicked up to meet his, somehow hurt and angry at once.

'I...I need to apologise,' Cullen huffed gently, taking a step closer, his body language stiff and wary, 'For the other day. What you said it was...'

'Inappropriate? Unwanted? Stupid?' Alistair supplied, his voice pitched into something cheery and helpful.

'Unexpected.' He finished and the king instantly felt chastened by the weariness in his voice. He had made so many assumptions about his reactions, that he would instantly be shot down...Maker, he hadn't even meant to say it. He had just caught him looking and the words had tumbled out.

He turned his head, breaking the eye contact between them, feeling like a sulking child again.

'I never meant to cause offence, Alistair,' his voice was soft as he spoke, smooth velvet tones despite the man's own agitation, 'you just...caught me off guard.'

There was a pause, silence filling the room uncomfortably again and it only broke at the sound of Cullen's footfalls, padding over plush carpet as he approached. 

Alistair kept his head turned, examining a crack in the polish of Josephine's desk, his thumbnail tracing the thin fracture. He was acutely aware of the other man, noting the strong scent of leather as he approached, the creak of his boots as he stopped in front of him. His stomach roiled, heart beating frantically.

'I only wanted to apologise, Alistair. It wasn't...'

He glanced up, finding the commander watching him quietly.

'It wasn't...unwelcome just...unexpected. As I said.'

He felt his eyebrow lift of its own accord, his head following suit a moment later and he found himself meeting Cullen's eyes once more.

'Right,' he answered calmly, his tone dubious, 'because all the handsome commanders want to jump back in bed with their...their...' his hand waved in the air as he struggled to put a name to what they had once had, '...thing.'

'Alistair, I...'

'I don't need your pity or you to humour me, Cullen,' he took a breath, 'We're both grown men. I'm married and you'll probably be soon. We didn't see each other for ten years and we're not likely to see each other much more. It was a stupid thing to say, and it makes no difference. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?'

He watched Cullen's brow crease as he spoke, uncertainty apparent once again on the warrior's face and he felt a pang of guilt at his own rejection of the man's apology.

What was wrong with him? Here the commander, his oldest friend was, trying to repair the damage made in the wake of an honest mistake, being gracious enough to accept the blame, and here he was throwing it back at him. Maybe he hadn't grown up after all. He sighed again, suddenly feeling very young and stupid, and he wondered how Elizabeth had ever though it a good idea to let him run a country.

'Maker...' he breathed, closing his eyes, his head shaking gently before he looked back to the other man, 'Cullen, I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. This is just so...'

'Confusing?'

He chuckled weakly.

'Something like that.'

The other man simply nodded, moving to the desk, leaning on it next to him.

'How did we get here, again?' Alistair asked and Cullen smirked softly.

'I believe you let your mouth run as usual and, well...perhaps we both could have handled this better.'

He chuckled again, his tension easing some and he turned to look at his old friend, meeting his golden gaze.

'So, at the risk of making this awkward again, where do we stand?'

'I...truly don't know. I had not anticipated this. I...value our friendship though, Alistair. We can't be as we were but, I would hope that we can still call each other friends.'

Alistair couldn't help the soft smile that curved his lips at Cullen's words. The man was right, they might not be able to hold a relationship as they used to but that wouldn't change the affection he felt for him.

'Hmm...I think I can stretch to that,' he murmured, glancing to the nearby oil painting, 'even if our ladies can't.'

Cullen grimaced.

'I don't understand it. Artemis was so excited to meet her...and then, with the Mabari...'

'Ah...yes, Barkspawn. Sorry about that.'

He shifted uncomfortably at the memory, and the inquisitor's pale, furious face.

'He is a dog, Alistair. It's what they do, especially in new territory. I don't hold either of you to blame for it.'

'We should probably do something about the girls though.'

'You can't force them. Perhaps it is only natural that two people in similar positions of power would not be able to co-operate easily.'

'Maybe but...Elizabeth isn't usually like this. Especially when politics are involved, I just...' he huffed, 'All this bickering is giving me a headache. Give me a sword and a hoard of darkspawn any day.'

Cullen laughed softly.

'I know the feeling with all these Orlesians poncing around.'

'I'm surprised you haven't gone mad.'

Golden eyes turned to him at that, warm as they regarded him.

'Truth be told, I'm not sure I haven't. I think Artemis is the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes.'

Alistair chuckled darkly, shifting against the wood of the desk.

'Tell me about it. When Elizabeth went to search for the cure...Maker, every day she was gone I thought I was losing my mind.'

'Did she...find it?' Cullen inquired, his tone tentative.

Alistair simply smiled.

'Unfortunately, Commander, I cannot reveal anything about a Warden-Commander's business. But suffice to say that my wife is a very tenacious woman and simply does not take no for an answer.'

'I see. Do you know if it's worked?'

He shrugged calmly.

'Difficult to say. But neither of us have woken up screaming from a nightmare in a while, so there is that. We're hopeful, but that's all we can be, for the moment.'

'You are lucky. You seem to have found your happy ending.'

Alistair frowned at that, Cullen's tone seeding worry in his gut.

'And you haven't yet? You have a beautiful woman on your arm and are the leader of one of the largest armies in Thedas, is there that much more you could want?'

'I...,' he sighed, 'it is of no concern.'

'Cullen.' he growled, voice low, daring him to lie to him.

The commander flicked a glance over to him, shaking his head.

'Just a headache, it's nothing.'

'You mean, just a massive bout of crushing lyrium withdrawal? Because that always sounds like nothing.'

Cullen's golden-brown eyes darkened a fraction, something akin to irritation flickering across his face. After a moment he nodded wearily.

'I wouldn't call it massive but, yes.'

Alistair found himself closer to the other man before he'd even finished speaking, his hand tentatively resting on his shoulder. A meagre offer of comfort, but all he dared to give for now. The desire to pull the blonde into his arms, to hold and soothe his pain tugged in his chest, but the man was far too proud and far too wary of their recent interactions to allow it.

Or so he had thought.

His eyebrows lifted slightly, eyes widening as Cullen's gloved hand reached up to cover his own, fingers gripping harshly as a wave of pain hit him. 

Teeth bared in a grimace, lips curled and pulled, he breathed harshly through clenched teeth. It was all Alistair could do to grip his shoulder gently and it seemed a lifetime before the other man's breathing eased, the hand on his own loosening its grip.

'Cullen...are you alright? Perhaps you should go and rest?'

The commander shook his head.

'No. I will be fine, in a moment. I just need...,' he took a deep breath, fingers trembling over his 'I need to get back to the main hall. Artemis will be back from changing soon.'

'Just...take it easy, alright?'

'I know my limits. I will be fine. But thank you for your concern.' 

His hand released, leaving a rush of cold air in its wake and Alistair reluctantly removed his own from the other's shoulder, looking him over in concern. The commander's skin was pale, a light sheen of sweat clinging to his brow, his face drawn.

'Cullen.'

The other man turned to him once more, brows knitted with irritation and Alistair sighed before pushing off the desk, standing to his full height. He moved in front of the other man quickly, blocking his escape, glaring down at him.

'Look. You can't go back into the hall as you are, you look like you've been dragged through the fade and back. Give yourself a moment, for Andraste's sake, man.'

Cullen grunted.

'Or for Artemis's sake. Whichever.'

His hands moved to the former templar's collar, straightening out creased material, moving to adjust the various details of his outfit back into place. When he was finished he gave a self satisfied nod, only to find his friend smirking up at him.

'I..uh.' He cleared his throat, heat rising to his cheeks at his own blatant disregard for the other man's space and he cursed himself for not being better disciplined. 

'I...probably needed that,' Cullen spoke softly, his acceptance of Alistair's action easing the king's fears 'I never was very good with these formal things...they're so...'

'Restrictive? Fussy? Ridiculous?' He rolled his voice on the last word, an attempt at humour once more. From Cullen's quiet snort, it had worked.

'How did you get used to this sort of thing?' The man gestured down at his attire, the well fitted jacket all but clinging to his frame.

Alistair laughed lightly.

'I didn't. I just learned not to show how much it bothers me. Usually with badly placed jokes.'

'Well, as long as you're aware they're badly placed.'

'You wound me, good ser. You're supposed to point out how his majesty is...what's the term the Orlesian's use? Tres drole. Usually in the most unamused tone you can think of. But they have to at least pretend to laugh, which is the best bit. I think that's what they find most annoying about me. If I were just some stuffy, backwards Fereldan king, well that'd be just fine for them to tut about behind their backs. But one with devastating wit, how would they cope. It's just not...'

'Alistair?' Cullen interjected softly, a smirk on his perfectly scarred lips.

'Yes?'

'You're wittering.'

'I...so I am,' he cleared his throat, 'So...uh...back to the ball then?'

'We probably should. I believe Artemis will be back by now.'

Alistair nodded as Cullen stood, falling into place as naturally as he had on the battlements, before their awkward flirting. The king smiled to see his oldest friend at his side again, pleased to note some of his colour had returned. 

The commander stepped forwards, opening the heavy door back to the main room.

'After you, your Majesty.'

He smiled lightly before plunging back into the myriad of noises and colours and scents of the room, watching guests jostle for a place along the edge of a clearly marked area. At its head stood Artemis at her throne, surveying the room, her eyes clearly searching for familiar faces. She paused when her gaze landed on him.

'Oh, Maker, no.' Alistair murmured, understanding what the look meant. It was traditional for host and guest to take the first dance at such occassions and he grimaced internally, never one for such displays.

He didn't have a choice. With the rumours spreading around Skyhold about the awkward situation between Elizabeth and Artemis, it wouldn't be long before they started getting back to Orlais. He'd be damned if he was about to let it get back to Empress Celene that the Fereldan monarchy wasn't playing well with their newest ally.

A throat cleared behind him quietly, Cullen gently prompting him into what they all knew was expected. He sighed internally before straightening his clothing, stepping out into the middle of the room.

Eyes turned to him instantly, the attention of every person in the hall on him and even after a decade of it, it still unnerved him. He gave a small bow, extending his hand to his host, holding his breath. She could easily snub him, and what a scandal that would be. 

He felt her eyes on him as he straightened, hand still offering a dance and she regarded him for a moment longer than necessary before returning a small curtsey and gliding down the steps to take his hand. He let out the breath he'd been holding, relieved that she hadn't decided to make a scene, taking a deeper breath to steady himself as she approached.

It promptly left him again when, without breaking her stride, she slipped off the ceremonial cloak she had been wearing all evening, revealing the dress she wore underneath.

It was audacious, it was beautiful and above all, it was devastatingly effective.

A knot formed in his throat suddenly and he had to work to swallow it, hoping that his increased nervousness wasn't apparent as he waited for her to reach him.

Pale golden skirts swirled around full hips, the soft swathes of material clinging to her curves as she made her way towards him, those hips rolling alluringly with every step. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, the lightly tanned skin of her shoulders revealed by the cut of her lace bodice, contrasting navy and gold in the flickering torchlight.

Despite the fine and alluring lines of her shoulders, the roll and sway of broad hips, it was the low cut neckline that caught his attention above all else though. He was certain the scandalous amount of her chest that was on display, just shy of indecent, was fully intentional, the full round flesh of her breasts peeking over the dipped neckline. Were it not for the pale gold chemise beneath the lace, her outfit would have been causing a stir for an entirely different reason than the woman's breathtaking appearance.

She flowed towards him, her small stature making little difference to the long strides of her legs, hidden beneath voluminous skirts and she paused only to curtsey once more as she reached him before taking his hand.

Her touch was warm as palms met, her fingers lightly calloused but still so delicate, so small compared to his broad clumsy fingers that he almost feared hurting her. But then, he had thought the same when he had first met Elizabeth and had almost instantly been shown just how deceiving her near frail appearance was. He had no cause to believe that Artemis would be any different.

They paused for a moment as they moved into a formal hold. His free hand found the curve of her waist, her's finding his shoulder and she gripped lightly, smiling. Her smile changed to a smirk when she moved closer, pressing her body against his, more firmly than they both knew was necessary. He swallowed again, feeling heat rise into his cheeks and he lifted his head into the appropriate stance, refusing to meet the pale blue of her eyes any further, lest he embarass himself.

Distantly, he noted the soft strains of music starting a slow, near romantic pace and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at his luck. Of course they would choose a style that required more proximity to the inquisitor than was good for him.

He moved automatically, his body somehow remembering how to dance whilst his mind wandered down dangerous paths. Painfully aware of how he was dancing with a woman whose beauty almost rivalled his wife's, painfully aware of the heat of her body through thin layers of lace, and painfully aware of the swell of her full chest, pressed just beneath his own.

Cursing his own attire, a deep red red tunic trimmed with gold that he had only chosen for the lightness of its fabric, he only hoped that it would prove long enough and sturdy enough to mask his growing arousal. He muffled a groan, feeling her hips roll to a swell in the music, driving her against him and a quick glance to her confirmed his suspicions that it was intentional, a smug smirk on her lips that she quickly changed back into a light smile for the crowd.

There were others on the floor now, couples whipping by them as the music's tempo increased, and he felt the tension in his shoulders easing, knowing they weren't being watched so closely. He chanced a glance down again, finding the inquisitor's attention elsewhere. He gave it no mind, using her distraction to chance a look down, past her chin and the coils of dark honey hair on her shoulders, to her ample chest. Blood rushed south again, the sight of her firm, full cleavage pressed into him, the light rise and fall of golden skin, the way the fabric stretched to contain her.

He marvelled at the difference between her and his wife, the startling curves of her small form compared to the lithe, slender grace of Elizabeth's lightly muscled frame. Not that Artemis didn't have her own muscles. He could feel the strength in her arms, could see the lines of toned biceps, cultivated from years of casting magic with a staff.

Eventually, he became aware of the music slowing until finally their dance stopped entirely. He gave a slight bow, relieved to part from her, though he returned the warmth of her smile in full before he returned to the crowd, intent on finding something to drink. It was only the murmuring of the guests that gave him pause as the music started up again, and he turned to look at the dancefloor once more.

There, in the centre, were his wife and the commander, side by side, performing a more traditional Fereldan dance, their hands intertwined as they circled each other. He knew this dance, not dissimilar from the one he and Elizabeth had performed at their wedding. It didn't allow for the intimacy that the Orlesian style dances did, but instead allowed both partners to see one another, maintain eye contact through the moves.

And they were making full use of the advantage, eyes locked, pleased smiles on faces that were so typically stern. Somewhere in his stomach, jealousy began to simmer. He pushed it away, finding them pleasant to watch, the sight of the two people he had given himself to freely dancing together stoking more affection than his own insecurities could marr.

They made an exquisite couple, Cullen's build, more elegant than his own, complementing Elizabeth's perfectly. Their steps were in time, weaving together and then apart, teasing, toying, a joyful play of legs and feet.

And what legs they were. He had always admired Elizabeth's ability to make the most of her elegant form. He knew she had heard the mutterings of other women, how she was too thin, too muscular, not feminine enough. She had always turned that to her advantage though.

Where Artemis knew her strength and had enticed him with raw sexuality, her breasts, buttocks and round hips, Elizabeth played a different game. The neckline of her pale blue dress was high, cut just beneath her shoulders, hiding hard earned muscles, long sleeves covering the scars that adorned her arms. Her back, however, was all but bare, a long pane of unmarked white skin framed by silver thread. Muscles rolled and flexed, subtle, but there, the long line and soft curve of her spine drawing all eyes.

And her skirts...the soft material that skimmed barely there hips flowing freely around slender ankles, a long split in the side of the seemingly demure dress parting to expose exquisitely shaped calves and thighs.

He watched quietly as they moved, flowing seamlessly as if they'd danced together every night of their lives. Dark blue eyes caught his own briefly and he smiled, her gaze being replaced with Cullen's a moment later.

Warmth settled in his stomach, affection lingering as they slowed, stepping apart and he watched with raised eyebrows as Cullen took Elizabeth's hand, gently kissing its back, offering her a smile. She returned it before leaving him, her attention returning to her king as she approached, though he saw the glance she gave off to the side. He followed it, watched as inquisitor's and queen's eyes met for a brief second and she nodded to the smaller woman, a clear acknowledgement passing between them.

He almost flinched at the look Artemis returned, her expression cold and pinched, furious at the other woman playing her at her own game. Elizabeth broke the exchange a moment later, turning her attention away and Alistair frowned at her uncharacteristically bright smile, kissing her cheek before she pulled him to the floor for their own dance.

Over her shoulder, he caught sight of the inquisitor doing the same with her own partner, though her expression was far darker, and the commander's more than a little flustered. Sighing with frustration he settled back into another stance with Elizabeth, moving with her once more, wondering just how much worse the situation could get.

One way or another, the women were at war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who has read, kudos'd, commented and subscribed. All forms of support are greatly appreciated :)


	6. Battles Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions reach boiling point for the ladies...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter as it contains mild violence.
> 
> Enjoy!

As the sole daughter of the Teyrn of Highever, Elizabeth had been impressed upon at a young age that there were a number of rules to being a good Fereldan noblewoman.

The first of these was, as she imagined was the case with most women in Thedas, to respect, support and obey the man in your life, be he your father or husband. A rule she had more or less complied with, though when it came to obeying, she was the first to admit she would bend the rules more than a little.

The second was to remember that all people under your rule had their roles and responsibilities and, as such, required as much attention and respect for the work they did as any noble. Without their support, which formed the foundation of your estate, it would crumble. It was also a noblewoman's job to remind her husband of this.

The third rule, and one that her mother had always paid particular attention to, was never to engage in behaviour that would cause friction between yourself and another noblewoman. In a society governed largely by men, it was important to network with their wives and daughters. Not only did it create an almost uninterruptible supply of information about other noble's plans and opinions, but it provided an excellent opportunity to manipulate said men, if one knew just how to play her hand.

Apparently, either Lady Trevelyan's mother had not felt the need to teach her daughter that particular rule, or the Free Marches's nobility played by a different set. And Elizabeth was fairly certain that the latter was not the case. She had to remind herself that Trevelyan was a mage and her time in the circle could easily have limited her contact with her family and therefore, their teachings. But considering that the Trevelyan's were a highly ranked family, and that their daughter had kept her title - despite her abilities - she doubted it.

Elizabeth sniffed lightly, regarding the woman and her partner. They had met in the war room to discuss...well, truth be told she barely remembered what they were supposed to be discussing. Alistair had chosen to lead on this one, and she was more than happy to let him to on this occasion, watching as he smiled easily, as if he couldn't feel the tension brewing between herself and Artemis.

With her king leading the discussion, she fell back into her thoughts. 

As far as she was concerned it was poor manners on the other woman's part, plain and simple. And even if the rules of noblewomen did not apply to the inquisitor, as she seemed to think, a basic sense of decency should have. Being passive aggressive to herself was one thing, but to play the game of trying to lead her husband astray...well, that was quite another. But if that was the way Trevelyan wanted it, she was happy to oblige.

When she had left the ball shortly after the evening meal a few nights ago, she'd had no intention of doing anything other than enjoying the evening. Oh, she had planned to dress the part, maybe put on a little show, and yes, her dress had been carefully selected from the few she'd brought with her – but the gown had been newly made by her seamstress, a surprise for Alistair and she'd meant it to catch his attention only. If it happened to catch the attention of anyone else, that was merely a happy coincidence.

She had just wanted a quiet evening, content to eat the pastries that Alistair's grooms-man had smuggled back to their quarters, before spending the evening dancing with her king, and perhaps the odd noble, where diplomacy required it.

And then she had returned to the hall, only to find Trevelyan dancing with her husband, wearing a decidedly low cut dress. Jealousy had coiled through her at the sight of the woman's impressive bosom, so expertly displayed, pressed against Alistair's torso, her body moulded to his as if they knew each other intimately. There was no way that anyone could have mistaken what the woman was up to, no way Alistair couldn't have noticed the display she was putting on, nor avoided feeling her warmth through the thin silk of his tunic.

Alistair had enjoyed it no doubt, she'd seen the way his eyes had wandered downwards when he thought the inquisitor wasn't looking, and she'd known him long enough to know the tension across his shoulders and the light blush on his cheeks meant he was aroused. Still, she couldn't bring herself to be too angry at him. She was a lovely looking woman, and it was only natural for him to enjoy such attentions. Any man would.

A halt in the conversation brought her attention back to the present and she smiled tightly as the inquisitor rounded the war table to stand closer to them, the commander at her side. 

It had occurred to her at the time to cause a scene. She'd wanted to. She'd wanted to stride into the middle of the floor and pull the other woman off her husband, to slap her or scream at her, or anything to let her know that Alistair was off limits.

Inquisitor Trevelyan had already recruited Leiliana and Morrigan to her cause, two of her oldest friends, her first real friends. Although she had always known that they would go their own ways after the blight, it had hurt that they'd aided the Inquisition when she had need of them to help find a cure for the taint. It made sense, she had realised, to defeat Corypheus rather than waste their resources on her personal quest but still... Trevelyan had taken the loyalty of her friends, she was not about to let her have Alistair.

Not without a fight, at least.

And then she'd spied Commander Cullen, standing awkwardly in the crowd, watching his partner and his oldest friend dancing together, a peculiar look on his face, as if he couldn't decide which of them he'd wanted to dance with most. Inspiration had hit. It would be such a shame to let him suffer with indecision.

It wasn't fair to him, she knew, and she had enough decency to feel guilty about taking advantage of his awkwardness. The poor man couldn't very well deny his queen a dance, and although he wouldn't admit it, they all knew that he found her at least a little attractive, if his staring on the battlements had been anything to go by.

So she'd slipped through the crowd as others couples had taken to the floor to dance, sidling up beside the handsome former templar. He had been immediately suspicious, perhaps even nervous when she had greeted him, hesitant to dance with her when he clearly knew there would be repercussions from Artemis. Yet he'd agreed anyway, and though she would admit that she had coerced a little, it hadn't taken nearly as much persuasion on her part as she had expected.

Once they were moving together, he had seemed to completely forget his inhibitions. He'd muttered, as she'd guided him onto the floor, that he was a poor dancer, that he was inexperienced at it, that'd he'd only embarrass her. She'd taken his hand, lifted it with hers into the appropriate position above their heads, careful to ensure her hand remained under his, and locked eyes with him.

His concerns about his dancing ability had proved to be unfounded. He'd moved beautifully, following the steps of the dance with an ease and grace that spoke of confidence in his body, if not his moves and before long he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, smiling back at her as they moved. She'd been pleased at that. Though she was dragging him into the crossfire, she bore him no ill will herself, Alistair's affection for his former lover having assured him that he was a good man. She'd not been disappointed with him so far.

She'd been pleased too, with the anger and jealousy on the other woman's face as their dance had finished. It assured her that her point had been made. But still...she wondered how far Trevelyan would go to assert her status within her castle. When it came down to it, the inquisitor was the hero within these walls, and her own status as queen and hero of Ferelden began to seem paltry in comparison. Artemis didn't need to display her power here, it was woven into everything that was the inquisition.

A question from Alistair caused her to pause, cocking her head lightly and she replied with barely a seconds pause. After holding the position of Queen of Ferelden for so long now, certain facts seemed to be ingrained on her consciousness, ready to be recalled and recited at any moment while her mind mulled over other matters.

Elizabeth swallowed, her stomach turning, unsettled. Was she the one being unreasonable here? Did the other guests feel she was in the wrong, that she should back down, defer to the inquisitor?

Did Alistair?

Shame crawled over her skin, to think that he might find her at fault, to think the man that meant everything to her might think less of her for her behaviour. The idea made her want to run, to retreat from this uncomfortable situation and find solace...somewhere, anywhere and she suddenly felt small and unworthy, to be standing in a room with three other people who were working together so amiably, despite the discomfort between all three of them. All because of her.

And yet, she couldn't run. She was required to stand at her husband's side, the last place in the world she felt she belonged at the moment. Perhaps she would have been better off not having returned, just sent him the cure and let him find someone more worthy of his attentions to be his queen.

The cure...she doubted it had worked. Her cycles had not returned since taking it so many months ago. If so, her last hope for providing Alistair with a child was lost. With no prospect of an heir...as much as she had always battled against the view that the primary purpose of a queen was to create the new generation of royalty, she knew in reality that it was true. If she really was barren, despite everything, he'd have no choice but to remarry in order to provide Ferelden its heir.

'Your Majesty?'

The title jolted her out of her musings, and despite the fear settled into her stomach, she lifted her eyes to meet the curious gazes of her husband and the commander, before turning her attention to Trevelyan. Disdain was clear on the other woman's features, her eyes narrowed, lips curled slightly, arms folded across her chest. She was leaning, almost casually, against the war table, as if she couldn't be less concerned about the meeting that was occurring in front of her.

Anger flashed in Elizabeth's gut, burning hot at the other woman's dismissal of her but she pushed it away quickly. It was not worth causing an incident over, not when she knew her own worth, even if her belief was wavering.

'My apologies, Inquisitor, my mind was elsewhere.'

'Yes. It seems to have been for most of this meeting, despite the fact it was you yourself that requested my presence.' The dark blonde scowled as she spoke, straightening from the table, taking a few steps towards her 'In fact, I believe it was you who requested a visit to the Inquisition in the first place, and yet this seems to be the last place in Thedas you want to be. So can you please explain to me, your Majesty, why exactly we're here at all?'

Surprise lanced through her chest at the words, the Inquisitor's suddenly confrontational attitude the last thing she was expecting in the middle of what had seemed to be a calm meeting. She cocked her head slightly, an affectation she knew she had picked up from Alistair, eyes narrowing as she met Trevelyan's gaze.

'You know very well why we're here, Lady Trevelyan,' she spoke calmly, carefully, 'we're discussing how Ferelden and the Inquisition are to work together in the current political climate, and how we can best be of assistance to each other.'

From the corner of her eye, she noted the men standing more attentively, their eyes darting to each other, concern and confusion flickering over their faces at the sudden turn in conversation.

'We have soldiers stationed in a number of fortresses across Ferelden, to protect _your _people. I believe Ferelden has already taken enough of the Inquisition's resources as it is.'__

Indignation shot through Elizabeth at the words, the haughtiness of the woman's tone, and she could scarce believe the audacity of it. To stand before her and outright insult her, to accuse her of lacking both the strength and will to protect and provide for her own country, to suggest that she was not capable, not worthy, after everything she had been through for her husband and her country.

She straightened her spine, drawing herself up to her full height to face down the upstart who stood just before her now, all the while remembering the image of the woman pressed up against her husband, trying to prove her own superiority. The words tumbled out before she caught them, short-lived relief following at being able to vent some of her anger;

'Well Inquisitor, you would know all about providing services when they're not wanted wouldn't you?'

Her fingertips brushed her over the back of Alistair's hand, the gold band he wore on his ring finger, leaving the other woman in no doubt as to what she was alluding to.

Skin cracked against skin. The thick tension that had formed in the room split for a moment, only to return tenfold as the inquisitor's hand dropped back to her side, silence falling heavy between them. There was a pause, breaths held in unison as Elizabeth blinked, her cheek red and swelling. She caught Cullen's expression as his mouth dropped open in shock, saw Trevelyan's pale blue eyes widen as realisation set in, heard Alistair's gasp off to her side before her world went red with rage.

She barrelled forward, heart pounding frantically in her chest, her instinct to defend herself coupled with fury at Trevelyan's assault powering her. Chests collided hard, pain erupting in her ribs at the force of contact, a pained gasp reaching her ears as the inquisitor's back slammed onto the war table, markers scattering under their weight. There were fingers clawing at her side, tearing at the light cotton of her dress even as her balled fist met the woman's nose with a satisfying crunch, followed by the sound of her dress tearing, nails scratching deep into her side as she pulled back her fist again.

A thud and her head was knocked back, Trevelyan's head colliding with her chin, hot copper tang flooding her mouth as she bit her own tongue. Moments later and hard ground hit her back, cold stone beneath her as the heavy weight of the inquisitor pinned her to the ground. She had to admit, this was unexpected, surprise at the other woman's sudden rush of strength catching her off guard, coupled with the strangely pleasant sensation of the blonde's chest pressed against her own as she reached to capture a wrist. Confusion at her own reaction set in and Elizabeth drew her leg back as far as she could, nearly bent double before kicking hard, striking at the other woman's hip, hearing a grunt from above in response. 

Her free hand found the woman's hair, pulling hard, dragging her head back, exposing the lightly tanned column of her throat and through her haze of anger and growing confusion, she managed to ignore the possessive urge to bite down on that delicate skin. The hand on her wrist released and within moments she struck at her again, a hard punch to her ribs, knocking the woman back. Free of her hold, she launched at her again, blood trickling from her side as she fell on the shorter woman, instincts screaming, lungs burning, hands moving of their own accord. 

For every punch she landed there was a kick, a scratch, a bite, matched blow for blow. Through her anger, something akin to respect began to grow. Trevelyan was no physical fighter and yet she didn't show a hint of backing down, despite being outmatched by a faster, stronger adversary.

But still, she couldn't hope to win this contest, Elizabeth's own hand around her throat, slender limbs pinning her. There was a hand at her face, fingers digging into the already present scar and her eyes widened, feeling the palm against her jaw begin to grow hot, realisation crashing over her a moment later that the woman was resorting to magic.

There were hands on her shoulders before she could think any further, a blast of energy that she recognised as a templar smite flooding the room, cancelling the mage's magic as Alistair's thick arms coiled around her torso, wrenching her, flailing, away from the blonde.

Cullen was doing the same, and she caught sight of him kneeling over her, arms pressing her against his chest, holding her tightly as she snarled and struggled.

'Elizabeth, stop!' The command came from behind her, the vibrations of Alistair's voice rumbling through her back, breaking through her fury and she heaved a breath, trying to calm the furious beating of her heart. 

He held her as her breathing slowed, as she slowly became aware of the pain creeping into the bruises and scratches on her skin, adrenaline fading as her breathing calmed. Realisation dawned shortly after, a tremor beginning to run through her body as she took in the sight before her. Cullen on his knees, holding a now quiet Artemis against him, blood staining her mouth and chin from her broken nose. Whatever pride she had felt, whatever rush had flowed through her in the course of the brawl fled now, leaving her cold in the wake of her realisation that she had assaulted the inquisitor.

Minutes passed, the sound of ragged breathing fading as they recovered and Alistair's arms released her slowly, cautiously, allowing her to stand. A few feet away, Cullen offered a hand to Trevelyan, pulling her up, his arm wrapped about her waist. He spoke to her constantly, low tones trying to coax something out of her. She seemed to ignore him, glaring at Elizabeth instead, and when she met her eye the heat of their fight had gone, only cold resentment left behind.

She took a breath. There had to be a way to salvage this, some way to turn this around.

'Inquisitor, I...'

'Save it.' The other woman snapped, struggling free of Cullen's grip 'I don't want your apologies.'

The meaning was clear, a dismissal and any fight that may have lingered within her left in a rush, leaving her feeling flat. With a curt nod to the inquisitor and commander she turned, moving to the door.

Alistair hurried to her side, intent on accompanying her.

'Elizabeth...'

'No, Alistair. Stay. Do what you can. I've already done enough damage here.'

He frowned, taking her hand in his gently.

'Are you sure? 'Lis, I don't want you...'

'I'm fine, Alistair.' She interrupted, aware of the shrill edge to her voice 'Just...please...see if you can salvage something from this.' 

He nodded slowly, kissing at the back of her hand before releasing her, turning back to their hosts.

Straightening her back, she smoothed out her skirts as best as she could, pulling the heavy door open. The heavy creaking, however, didn't quite manage to mask the sound of Trevelyan's voice;

'Does she always leave you to pick up the pieces when she's made a mess?'

Alistair snorted heavily.

'Artemis, please, my wife is usually the one fixing my mistakes. And I'd thank you not to speak of her so.'

'I'm just saying...if you wanted to find a wife that doesn't abandon you every few minutes, no one would blame you. It's not like you have children to think of.'

The words weren't anything she hadn't heard before, weren't anything she hadn't told herself already, but somehow in that moment, they stung more than ever. To hear them said brazenly, casually...she knew she probably deserved it. She had insulted the woman, attacked her...

She paused at the door, turning to look over her shoulder, aware of the guards in the hallway staring at her curiously. Behind her, Trevelyan had frozen, eyes wide, a hand to her mouth, just realising that she was still within hearing distance. 

Cullen, to his credit, managed only to acknowledge his partner's faux pas by rolling his eyes upwards, staring at the ceiling as if he could invoke the Maker to aid.

Alistair simply met her gaze, his eyes soft, concern evident in every line of his face.

' 'Lis...' he breathed her name, a gentle request to stay.

She bolted.

Past the startled guards, past the Ambassador who leapt to her feet in alarm, through the keep and its maze of corridors, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes that fell upon her. In just a few minutes the entire castle would be atwitter with the gossip that the Queen of Ferelden was spotted sprinting through the halls of Skyhold, dishevelled and distressed.

Guards parted for her as she approached their allotted chambers, servants scurrying to open the doors for her and she all but tumbled into the bedroom, heaving for breath, barking at her handmaiden to leave.

The girl hurried to obey, closing the heavy door behind her as she left, leaving the queen alone, seething and weeping in her quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed the chapter.
> 
> As always, kudos, comments and constructive criticism are all greatly appreciated (and so many comments last week, thank you guys :))


	7. Seeking solutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artemis and Cullen decide something needs to be done...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! :)

The situation was a mess. A total bloody mess.

If Cullen had thought the occasional scuffle between the mage and templar soldiers who made up a part of the Inquisition's army were bad, then by comparison what he had witnessed between Artemis and Elizabeth was pure carnage.

He raked a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in his and Artemis's chambers, aware of his lover sitting quietly on the bed, watching him. A healer was knelt before her, prodding her nose back into shape, healing the damaged cartilage, casting healing spells here and there to soothe the bruises that had cropped up in the hours after their spat.

Spat. He snorted to think of it as such. He had seen men in a bar brawl do less damage to each other and his brow creased as he cast Artemis a worried glance.

She was calmer now, away from the situation, away from prying eyes but the tells of her own anxiety still lingered; the tightness across her chest, the way her eyes were distant, clouded by thoughts.

The healer stood abruptly, murmuring hurried advice that she should rest before he all but sprinted from the room.

She didn't speak even when the door clicked shut behind the mage, leaving the two of them to their tumultuous thoughts. He moved to her side, feeling the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat next to her, wrapping an arm about her shoulder, pulling her gently into his body. Muscles tensed, resisting his embrace at first, relenting after a moments hesitation to lean against his chest, letting him coil his arms around her. Her head tucked in under his chin, sheltering from the world.

'Are you alright, Artemis?' he spoke quietly, lowly, attempting to pitch his question so as not to startle her further. Against his thigh, hands fisted and released rhythmically, working at the dark leather of his trousers. A sure sign of her lingering agitation.

'Artemis?' he coaxed again, when no answer was forthcoming.

He felt more than heard the breath she took before she spoke.

'Fine. I'm fine.'

'Artemis,' he sighed softly, nose burying into her hair, 'talk to me. Please.'

She swallowed thickly.

'How did it end up like this?' she asked, voice muffled against the thin fabric of his undershirt 'How did I end up in a catfight with the Queen of Ferelden?'

He frowned into her hair.

'I don't know, my love. Things seem to have gone...somewhat awry.'

'That's one way of putting it.'

He smiled gently against honey blonde locks.

'Do you think we can rectify this?' he asked softly and she pulled back from his embrace to meet his gaze. A deep breath to steady herself and her eyes wandered away again, finger tapping against her lower lip. It was the expression he knew meant she was deep in thought, analysing every aspect of the situation as best she could, looking for advantages.

After a few minutes she sighed again, shaking her head.

'I don't know, Cullen, I slapped a monarch. And not just a monarch but also a Warden-Commander and the Hero of Ferelden.'

'To be fair, her retaliation was a tad...over the top. I appreciate that she's a warrior but...' he shook his head, 'it was an overreaction on her part.'

She smiled at him gently.

'And if it had been the other way around? If she'd slapped me and I'd launched myself at her?'

'It would be a completely legitimate reaction.'

A gentle laugh from her and the tension across her shoulders eased slightly, some spark back in her eyes.

'I would love to believe that,' she murmured, looking at him and he wavered under the strength of the affection in that gaze, unsure if he deserved so much, 'but...the point still stands. I goaded her into a reaction. I insulted her to her face, slapped her and then attacked her verbally. I shouldn't have said any of it, I shouldn't have...'

'Artemis,' he spoke her name softly, but firmly, using the calmest command he could as he took her hands in his, 'this is not your fault. Yes there may have been some...tactical miscalculations, perhaps even mistakes on your part, but that does not excuse her behaviour.'

'I suppose not...I mean...you can't just attack someone for speaking your mind, it's just bad manners, isn't it?'

'...I...yes. I suppose.' He stammered, looking to Artemis as she rose off the bed, beginning to pace about the room, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. Her face had darkened now.

'This is my castle, my home. You can't just bring your dog here and let it piss on my throne, insult me and attack me. Maybe I was right to slap her?'

'I...wouldn't go that far.'

Blue eyes shot up to meet his at that, his lover standing stock still as she glared at him, all her anger directed at him now. He swallowed thickly.

'So you think she was right then? I deserved it?'

'Artemis, no, I...'

'Well you would, wouldn't you?' she interrupted him and he felt dread coil in his stomach at the words, knowing exactly where the conversation was about to go. He steeled himself for the words that were inevitable.

'I mean, you did seem to enjoy yourself dancing with her the other night. You said you'd never danced with anyone but me before, never would. But there you were, with her. And Alistair too, someone said they'd seen you go off with him somewhere. Were you...were you,' she gritted her teeth, '...were you getting reacquainted?'

He stood instantly at the words, fear and indignation driving him, compelling him to move at her accusation and he found himself striding towards her and gripping her by the arms, staring down into ice blue eyes.

'No.' It was the only word he spoke, the only word he needed to with his conviction driving him. He was not unfaithful. He would not be, ever.

The vindication in her eyes faltered and he softened instantly, the low flicker of anger in his stomach cooling instantly.

'I won't lie to you Artemis. I cannot. Alistair and I were only talking, I was apologising for my behaviour when we were giving them the tour,' he paused, wondering how best to broach the next issue, 'and yes. I did dance with her, and I did enjoy myself. But I cannot deny my queen, you know that. It would cause more of an issue if I hadn't.'

'But you enjoyed it?'

He closed his eyes briefly, hating himself for the words he was about to say, for causing any hint of doubt of his devotion to her. But he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. She deserved better than that.

'Yes. I did. She is beautiful, Artemis. But that does not mean I choose her over you. Nor would I choose Alistair over you, though I've known him in the past,' he pause to gauge her reaction, struggling to find one on her face, '...do you believe me?'.

She didn't answer right away, brow creased with thought and worry, until slowly, she nodded meeting his gaze again and he lowered his forehead to rest against hers gently.

'There is no one else, Artemis.'

'I believe you.' She leant up slightly, kissing him on his brow and he immediately moved to wrap his arms about her, pulling her into him again, a solid kiss pressed against her lips a moment later. Relief flooded him when she responded, pressing back against him, and he savoured the feeling of her against him before he pulled back, taking her hand, guiding her to sit on the bed once more.

'We do, however,' he began softly, 'still have to address this issue. With any luck we can speak to them tomorrow and resolve this, once we've all gotten some rest and had some time to think.'

'Yes...you're right,' she nodded, calm again as she looked at him, and he marvelled at the way she brought her emotions under control once more, 'We must resolve this. We can't afford for our relationship with Ferelden to deteriorate.'

'I agree. So what does the inquisitor think is the best course of action?'

'Are you telling me my favourite advisor doesn't have any suggestions?' She teased.

He snorted lightly.

'I do, but I doubt any of them will be helpful. I suspect this isn't the time for military action, simpler as it would be.'

She rolled her eyes before taking his hands.

'I think,' she drawled softly, 'we need a two pronged attack. You speak with Alistair, try to calm him down...he was awfully upset.'

'I don't think watching his wife nearly be incinerated is the sort of thing that cheers him up.'

'I wasn't that close to burning her!'

'Alistair seemed to think otherwise. Else he'd not have used Smite.'

'That was him? I thought that was you?' Artemis asked, surprise evident on her face.

'No...I admit, I was not far behind him but...it was him. Apparently being a warden with templar training allows you to use the talents without lyrium. Which is charming.' He rolled his eyes heavily, prompting a light giggle from Artemis.

His quirked eyebrow immediately stifled it and she turned back to the matter in hand.

'Right, anyway. As I said. We go to them, you take Alistair, and I will attempt to apologise to Elizabeth.'

'Alone? Do you think that's wise?'

'She tried to apologise straight away, Cullen. I didn't let her. Perhaps if I had I wouldn't have...' she trailed off, swallowing, '...perhaps I wouldn't have made matters worse. Regardless of whose fault this is, it needs fixing. The only way I can see that happening is if we try to apologise. If they don't accept that, then it's not on our heads.'

He nodded slightly, the meaning of her words sinking in slowly. If they couldn't repair this, it would destroy his and Alistair's friendship, not just Ferelden and the Inquisition's.

'We'll make it work. I just...do you think you'll be safe alone with her? She tried to choke you.'

'I...I admit, I'm a little concerned. But if you and Alistair stay close by, it should be fine. And I believe that she realised she'd made a mistake. I doubt she'll try anything again.'

'If you're certain. But I'll not go further than the next room, Artemis. I don't trust her.'

She nodded lightly, an agreement to appease him. He sighed deeply.

'Tomorrow then. We cancel everything else and go to their rooms and try to talk this out, yes?' he asked and she nodded, confirming their plan, a smile breaking over her face.

'We make an excellent team, you know?'

'I know, let's just hope we can pull this off.'

\--

They slept fitfully, wrapped in each other's arms, both plagued by nightmares of war between themselves and the Fereldan's and when sunlight finally began to spill into the morning sky they rose bleary eyed and tired.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, a tray of food brought to their chambers, along with the news that the royals had not been seen, nor heard from, since they had sent the healer away yesterday evening. Cullen didn't know if that boded well or ill.

His head was pounding, a craving for lyrium beginning to scratch at the back of his mind once more. Artemis reached out to him, as tired eyed as he was, offering a soft touch and a gentle smile, attempting to ease his suffering.

When they felt prepared they dressed and left their rooms, heading down the maze of corridors to the most opulent guest wing of the castle. The royal's personal guards were at the door, silent and stoic and Cullen had to admit that their presence tested even his nerve. The growling mabari stationed near the door even more so.

'Good morning, inquisitor.' Came a quiet male voice, Alistair's aide sidling out from the apartment's opulent oak door. 'Am I to assume that you wish to speak to their Majesties?'

'Yes,' Artemis addressed the man briskly, and he had to admire the even tones with which she spoke, 'if you would be so kind as to inform them. I hasten to add that we don't wish to intrude upon their privacy, but the matter is rather pressing.'

'Good to know you feel that way.' Alistair's voice came clear from inside the suite's lobby, his groomsman looking a little startled at his Majesty's presence 'We were starting to worry that the inquisition were unconcerned about the matter.'

His tone was cutting as he appeared in the doorway, looking as though he'd had about as good a night's sleep as they had. He turned to his servant;

'You and Arla are dismissed, we'll let you know if you're required.'

The man bowed deeply, the queen's handmaiden scurrying out from behind the door and following suit before the two disappeared.

Alistair stepped back, an angry flick of his hand gesturing them into the lobby. He closed the door heavily on the growling mabari, turning to them before they could enter the solar.

'Just to make this perfectly clear,' he all but growled, and Cullen was taken aback at the man's aggressiveness, 'we are discussing yesterday's events, yes?'

Artemis nodded quickly.

'Good. Then all I have to say is this, if we have another repeat of yesterday, I don't care what the political repercussions are, our ties with the inquisition are over. I didn't come here to have my wife insulted, humiliated and upset.'

'We had and still have no intention of doing any such thing, your Majesty. We came here to try and reconcile. I trust you have no issue with that?'

Alistair's eyes narrowed briefly.

'Just...no slapping. Right?'

'Of course.'

He nodded at that, placated for the moment, before he pushed the door to the living room open, leading them in. Cullen shut the door softly behind them once through, and it felt like sealing off their escape. In all the time he had known Alistair, he had never seen him truly angry. Irritated and frustrated, perhaps, but never angry.

He didn't like it. It didn't suit the man's normally cheerful, expressive face, nor the warm amber of his eyes, now a deep brown. He didn't like how it made him feel on edge, either, and he attempted to distract himself by taking in the room's other occupant.

Queen Elizabeth was sat in a plush armchair in the centre of the room, her hands folded in her lap, her face impassive, her long red hair carefully arranged in a decorative braid over her shoulder. She would have looked regal, as if she were on her throne, were it not for tolls that yesterday's events had taken on her face.

Her eyes were heavy, tired, a stark contrast to their usually bright, sharp nature. And there wasn't a hint of make-up on her face. He had never noticed it before, always assuming that the queen was a natural beauty – and she was – but the circles beneath her eyes were darker without the paint, barely any colour to her cheeks without the powder and her scar was infinitely more noticeable. Whereas before it had seemed to him to be a deep scratch, without the make up to cover it, it clearly ran deeper than he had first thought. On inspection, the wound was likely deep enough to have penetrated completely through her cheek when it had been fresh, and he almost winced at the thought of the woman with half her lower face completely severed.

He pulled his attention away, not wanting to imagine the scenario that such a wound could have occurred in, though it explained the way she fought.

'Your Majesties,' Artemis's voice cut through the stifling air and he swallowed thickly, watching as Alistair moved to stand at his wife's shoulder, hovering protectively '...I hope we are not intruding, but I wondered if we might discuss yesterday's events.'

Behind her back, Artemis's fingers curled together, twitching restlessly, and he moved to her side, aware that he was mirroring Alistair's own stance.

Elizabeth dark blue eyes flicked to the inquisitor's, suddenly sharp.

'It is your castle, inquisitor. To my knowledge, you can do as you please.' Her tone was deadpan, as if she couldn't be bothered to muster the energy for any sort of inflection.

Artemis's face briefly contorted, anger flashing before she took a breath, cooling her temper. Cullen took a step closer to her, offering what support he could without making her seem weaker.

'I...your Majesty, if you would, I'd like to speak with you alone.'

Cullen watched as Alistair's eyebrows lifted immediately before anger marred his face once more.

'Yes, well, that sounds like a splendid idea, inquisitor, but you see there's this bizarre little part of me that doesn't want to leave my wife alone with the woman who assaulted her.' 

The sarcasm was unmistakable, and if it had been anyone else using such a tone with Artemis, Cullen would've quickly made sure they didn't do it again. But for his king... He frowned, feeling disloyal to his lover, unsure whether he should jump to her defence or let it slide.

'King Alistair, I understand your hesitation, but I assure you that I have no intention causing anyone any harm or insult.'

'That aside,' Elizabeth cut in, and Cullen knew the question that was about to come, 'why exactly would you need Alistair to be out of the room to say what you wish to say? You'll understand, inquisitor, that it seems slightly suspicious.'

'If I may be honest...I'd like to be able to speak frankly with you. I don't feel that's possible with Cullen and your husband watching over us.'

A well shaped eyebrow lifted at that and Elizabeth turned to look at Alistair.

'She has a point.'

' 'Lis! I'm not leav...'

'Alistair!' she snapped, her voice sharp and the king almost recoiled. His eyes blazed as he stared down at his wife, jaw working, clearly unable to decide whether to fight the point or give in. Her gaze softened.

'Alistair. I can take care of myself, if it comes to it. I didn't spend two years wandering the deep roads by being a waif who can't handle a blade.'

He huffed slightly.

'Fine, but we'll be in the next room,' he gestured to the bedroom, '...if I hear so much as a squeak...'

'I know darling, you'll swoop down and save me.'

Alistair's face creased suddenly, a bizarre pained expression appearing and he nodded stiffly at her before heading to the bedroom. Cullen followed, casting a wary eye over the two women before stepping into the lavishly decorated room, unease in his stomach. 

Looking back at his king, he opened his mouth to speak, the noise abruptly cut off when Alistair poked his head out of the doorway.

'And for the record, swooping is bad.' He hissed before pulling back and closing the door.

Cullen lifted an eyebrow, bemused.

'Swooping is bad?'

'Terrible, in fact. All sorts of unpleasant things where swooping is involved. But then...unpleasantness seems to have already occurred so...I could be wrong, unheard of as that is.'

The king turned from the door, though his fingertips remained pressed against the wood, as if it gave him some sort of lingering connection to his wife. 

'I...suppose we should discuss yesterday too.' Cullen suggested, alarmed when Alistair's expression changed back into a scowl.

'Should we?'

'Are you suggesting that we shouldn't?' he asked, confused, watching Alistair carefully as the man's posture change, his hand dropping from the door, head cocking.

'Is it going to help? Is it going to change anything? I don't really want to point any fingers but Artemis slapped my wife and tried to use magic on her. That's a tad hostile, don't you think?'

Cullen bristled.

'As I recall, it was your wife who broke Artemis's nose and then tried choking her. If that doesn't count as hostile, I'm not sure what does.'

'She started it,' Alistair barked, arms folding across his chest, drawing himself to his full height, 'I'm fairly certain that Elizabeth was well within her rights to defend herself.'

'That wasn't self defence, Alistair. That was retaliation and you know it.'

'Well what did you expect her to do?'

'Not break her nose, perhaps?'

The king scoffed, glowering, brow furrowed as he stared at the other man.

'Sorry, I'll be sure to back the woman who's insulting my wife next time, shall I? Would that be more acceptable to you, commander?'

Cullen all but flinched. Alistair rarely used titles when in private and to hear it used in such a mocking tone stung more than he cared to admit.

He had never been on the receiving end of Alistair's ire, never really witnessed it but he suddenly realised what it must be like to meet the man as the King of Ferelden instead of his friend. He cut an imposing figure, tall and broad, his face dark, his voice disdainful, sarcasm dripping from his voice with every word.

'Well?' the word came harsh and demanding, trying to provoke an answer and something seethed quietly in Cullen's stomach. The man may well have had every right to be angry about the situation, but neither party was guilt free in this. He certainly wasn't in any position to be demanding anything.

'I'll admit that Artemis hasn't been as hospitable as she could have been, but I don't recall Elizabeth acting to improve the situation.'

'Yes, of course, let's ignore the fact that she tried to reconcile while we were on your tour but Artemis decided that overreacting to your wandering eye was far more important.'

Cullen barked out a laugh, hard, humourless.

'That's a little hypocritical, don't you think? You're as much the king of overreacting as you are of Ferelden.'

That gave the other man pause, the jibe cutting deep and his face fell, lips parting to speak;

'Thank you for the vote of confidence, friend. It's good to know you can still be as subtle as a lead pipe when the time calls for it.'

Cullen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, knowing that a line had been crossed. Again. And to think that he was supposed to be trying to reconcile with him, that Alistair was the supposedly easier of the two to handle despite his emotions. He wondered now if he might have been better off speaking with the queen and letting Artemis handle Alistair.

When he glanced up, he found the other man staring at the floor, face tight once more.

'Alistair. I...apologise...I didn't mean anything by it.'

Amber eyes flicked to meet his own before dancing away again, the hurt puppy that he was so used to returning once more.

'You did,' Alistair pointed out, at blunt as him, before rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, 'but...you're right. I can't point any fingers here it's just...Maker's breath, I felt like I've said and thought this a million times but...how did we get here?'

'Us or them?'

'Both.'

He shrugged, the force of Alistair's anger seeming to fade from around them, and took a step towards the man.

'Cullen...if they can't make this work...there's no chance of us remaining friends...or, whatever we are.' He gestured vaguely with a hand.

'They will,' he took a breath, 'I don't mean to bring the issue up again but we both know that neither of them are innocent in this. Artemis made a dire mistake, but she's been on edge ever since the two of you arrived. She doesn't want it this way, that's why she came to apologise.'

Alistair cocked an eyebrow.

'On edge? Why?'

'Alistair, your wife is the Hero and Queen of Ferelden. Everyone in southern Thedas knows of her. She was excited when she found out that the two of you were coming to visit. She wouldn't appreciate me telling you this but...she was petrified as well.'

'I...she's intimidated by Elizabeth?' the king asked incredulously.

'You say that as if she shouldn't be. Alistair...Artemis admires Elizabeth beyond anything. She told me, when she found out that the two of you were coming to visit, that she'd always wanted to meet her.'

'Really?'

Cullen nodded.

'She has quite the collection of books on the fifth blight, believe me, I've seen them. The letter that she sent to us when we were still fighting Corypheus? She keeps it in a box with her most treasured possessions. She...,' he paused, thinking, recalling how she had wanted to impress the queen with her strength, her ability to lead the inquisition, '...she'll kill me if she finds out that I've told you this.'

Alistair laughed quietly, shaking his head. 

'I suspect there's maybe a bit more to it than that though, isn't there?'

'Perhaps. I've said too much as it is but, believe me when I say, she went into this with good intentions, and...I think we've all become a little lost in the past few days.'

'I suppose you're right on that count.'

'Do you think Elizabeth would be able to accept an apology?'

'I...I would like to think so but...,' Alistair rubbed at a temple briefly, 'It wasn't the fight, Cullen. Not really. It was what Artemis said after that was the problem. We've been trying for over ten years to have a child, hoping that if we tried hard enough, we might be able to but...'

'But?'

'The taint, Cullen. We're wardens. We knew it would be difficult, perhaps impossible but we always hoped that by some miracle, it might happen for us. I think she's lost all hope now.'

His shoulders sagged as he spoke and in moments, the king before him transformed back into the young man he had known so many years ago. Except now, the weight of Ferelden and it's people were on his shoulders, along with his and his wife's own fading hopes.

'She doesn't think the cure's worked. She spent two years looking for it, two years away from me, and it looks like it's all for nothing,' he glanced up to Cullen, the warm glow of his amber eyes returned now, but dampened by his own sorrows, 'if it hasn't...we're already on borrowed time. The taint won't spare us much longer. By all rights, it should've claimed us already.'

Cullen frowned.

'How do you mean?'

Alistair huffed, a hint of irritation present, as if he were sick of explaining.

'You're obviously aware of the Calling by now?'

'I am.'

'The Calling comes at the end of a warden's life. The end of their ability to resist the effects of the taint. That's usually a maximum of thirty years.'

'But you've only been a warden for ten, surely that means you have another two decades?'

The king shook his head slowly.

'Thirty is an optimistic figure. The more you're exposed to darkspawn, the earlier your calling comes. And we were in the middle of the blight, Cullen. We faced down the archdemon. All other wardens who were active during a blight had their callings within a few years of its ending. We should have died years ago.'

Cullen opened his mouth to speak, to offer hope or comfort, anything to ease the obvious distress on Alistair's face, only to be cut off as the man continued;

'But people can't know that. They have to believe in their king and queen and Maker knows there's enough of them that believe I'm a fraud already,' he shook his head again, 'if they realise that it's the taint stopping us conceiving, then at worst, we'll both be forced to abdicate. At best, I'll be expected to remarry, to someone who can produce an heir. In all honesty...the latter seems worse. I'd give up the throne in an instant if it meant I could stay at Elizabeth's side, but she believes it's where I belong. She'd annul the marriage herself if she thought it was the best thing to do for me.'

The words suddenly made the woman's reaction to Artemis's words yesterday make sense. A physical fight was nothing if Artemis had ripped into every insecurity that the queen had, even if she had done so unwittingly. It explained perfectly why the woman's face had paled, why she had fled, why there were whispers of her weeping floating about Skyhold.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, uncomfortable, almost embarrassed now that he understood. But more than anything, it was the expression of resignation on his friend's face that prompted him to walk over to him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a mirror image of the consolation Alistair had offered to him the another night.

Surprise took him when Alistair not only leaned into the gesture, but turned fully towards him, arms wrapping about his waist as his face pressed into his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment, alarmed by the sudden proximity, before realising that offering solace to the man was far more important than his own awkwardness.

He returned the embrace, arms curling almost protectively about his shoulders, feeling the heaves in the chest pressed against his as Alistair tried to calm himself.

'I didn't realise the situation was that dire. I am sorry, Alistair. But...could you not just name an heir?' he suggested weakly, desperate to offer a solution when they both knew there wasn't one that could appease everyone.

'I could but...that's not the point, Cullen. I want a family. Elizabeth wants a family. She lost hers before the blight and I've never had one...having an heir isn't as important as having a child is to us,' his head turned slightly, still pressed to his shoulder, 'I can't even give her that.'

The tone of his voice fell somewhere between sorrow and anger, aggrieved over the situation, angry at himself for causing it.

Tightening his arms about the man's shoulders, Cullen pulled Alistair further into him. The sense of resignation, of utter hopelessness over the situation was almost tangible in the trembling of his king's arms, and he wondered how much his friend struggled on a daily basis. The man was a born leader, but had never seemed to realise that, so lost in his own self-consciousness and the realisation came to him that the cocksurety that Alistair displayed in public was as much a mask as any Orlesian's.

It must be gruelling, he thought, to be constantly inundated with people looking to you for guidance or aid, and though he could empathise to an extent, he knew their situations were different. He may be looked to for orders on a daily basis, but Cullen was comfortable giving those orders, at ease with the military machine. Alistair was not built to deal with politics or the expected stoicism of royalty.

At least, not without his wife by his side, and not when they had their own personal struggles to contend with as well.

His heart, dare he admit it, ached for the other man, an urge to help him, console him when there was little he could do to change the situation. He drew him closer still, the man's torso all but moulded to his, a hand sliding to cradle the base of his skull.

The intimacy of the embrace was not lost on him, painfully aware that they were walking a dangerous road, but too concerned with his former lover's well being to do anything about it. If he couldn't act to improve his king's troubles, he could at least let him vent them and offer succour.

'It will be fine, Alistair,' he murmured, feeling the king's hands fisting in his shirt, shaky breaths rocking the broad body, 'If it has only been a few months since you took the cure, and, I don't wish to offer false hope but...perhaps these things take time. I'm no healer but it seems to me that ten years of exposure to the taint cannot be washed away immediately by one potion. I have not cleansed myself of lyrium by missing one ration.'

There was a soft snort against his shoulder, a puff of hot breath.

'You always have to be calm and collected and correct, don't you?'

'I try.'

A rumble ran thorough Alistair's chest, a soft chuckle before he lifted his head slightly, though he had clearly decided that he wanted the embrace to continue for a little longer, unwilling to move his body away.

Cullen indulged him; partially for the other man's sake, partially for his own. He would not fully admit to Artemis that the situation was taking its toll on him as well, not when she needed his support. But here, with no one to see him but he who already knew his weaknesses, he allowed himself to take comfort in the other man. A piece of his past, a very present reminder that though life was often hard and everything changed, there was always some hope to be had, always something waiting for you on the other side that made it worthwhile.

He wasn't sure how long they stood in their quiet embrace, only aware that Alistair's breathing had calmed, that his fisted hands had relaxed, his palms resting against his back now. Eventually, the other man pulled back, his arms releasing, though his hands didn't leave him completely, as though he was scared that if he lost contact with him, everything would fall apart again. Instead they rested lightly, awkwardly on his sides, his face only a few inches away from his own.

He knew that he should pull away at that moment, aware that they were now past the point of a dangerous turning and well down the path to regrettable actions. Alistair knew too, it was clear in the way his eyes darted to his and away again, his lower lip worried between his teeth. 

The action only served to make him quell his sane mind's insistence to step away, watching the full lip as it was rolled between white teeth. He took a breath, taking the moment to let his eyes wander over the other man's face, quietly appraising the features that were so familiar and still so changed.

His jaw was far stronger than it had been when they were younger men, the residual puppy fat that had still been present in his face when he had left the templars now faded, leaving lean, hard lines it its wake. It had had a remarkable effect on his cheekbones, defined now, making him look chiselled and masculine, complemented by the long sweep of his nose, the hard angles of his face only softened by the curve and pout of his lips and the gentleness of amber eyes.

The corner of those lips tugged into a gentle half smile, eyes soft even as the king shook his head, knowing what he was thinking, pulling away from him.

Instinct and emotion seized Cullen, a desperate want for the moment not to end so soon, not without grabbing the only chance to do what his body wanted and his mind rebelled at.

He reached forwards, grasping at Alistair before he could retreat too far, hand finding the back of his neck again, tugging him down the bare inch or so between them to press his lips firmly against the other man's.

Lips twitched against his own, the king startled for a moment before he responded, pressing back, arms curling around him again and Cullen relaxed into the hold. In the back of his mind, he knew it wouldn't last long, couldn't last long, but the joy in his chest overwhelmed it, his affection for the other man returned in full as Alistair whimpered softly.

He pressed him close again as they kissed, heat radiating from him, entwined together in strong arms, a moment of peace and calm amidst the chaos of their situation.

It was only as Alistair's lips drew away again that he spoke.

'I never got the chance to say goodbye when you left the chantry,' he murmured, eyes focused on the other man's parted mouth, afraid to meet his eyes, 'I wanted to do it properly, just one last time so I could lay what we were to rest.'

The words were so quietly spoken, he was sure that Alistair wouldn't even hear them, but he pressed forwards again, lips against his forehead, his cheek, before coming to rest on his mouth again.

Affection bloomed again at Alistair's kiss, slow and gentle, a warmth that suffused his body as the other man held him.

'One last time.' Alistair replied, dropping another lingering kiss onto his lips, understanding the relevance of the moment, reciprocating the feeling, bringing closure to what had been taken from them when they were little more than boys.

A soft sigh and the moment broke, arms loosening, the two men pulling back to a respectable distance from each other, though crimson stained both their cheeks.

Cullen could feel his own burning, took a breath to savour the moment as Alistair smiled back at him, affection mirrored on his face before he exhaled slowly, looking back to the door. He opened his mouth to speak, his lips curled into his usual infuriating smirk, a joke prepared on his tongue when a soft knock at the door interrupted.

The king's mouth snapped shut, his back straightening and he glanced once to him to confirm his readiness.

Cullen nodded.

'Come in.' Alistair called, granting entry, and Artemis shuffled in a moment later, offering a small curtsey to him.

'Your Majesty.'

'Inquisitor...I take it that you and Elizabeth have finished speaking?'

'We have, for now.'

Alistair nodded, sending a last, brief smile to Cullen before returning to the sitting room.

Artemis watched him go without comment before turning her attention back to her commander, hurrying to him and quickly wrapping her arms around him.

'Is everything well?' he asked quietly, his voice pitched low so that it wouldn't travel to the next room, though he was certain Alistair and Elizabeth were doing the same.

She looked up at him, blue eyes brighter than they had been this morning.

'Not completely, but...better. I apologised and I think she accepted it. We've agreed to talk things over a little more, when we're not quite so worked up.'

He smiled gently down at her.

'I'm proud of you.'

Artemis grinned, before her expression took on something more serious.

'And...you and Alistair? It sounded like you two were getting a bit agitated earlier.'

He shook his head.

'A brief difference of opinion. It's all settled now, don't worry. I think he may be able to encourage Elizabeth to listen to what you have to say.'

'Good. That's good, thank you.' She nodded, looking thoughtful, before glancing over his face, reading his expression, 'You seem happier.'

'We dealt with some issues, from a long time ago,' he answered quickly, 'It was nice to be able to discuss them.'

She smiled again and he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

'Should we go then? I don't want to overstay our tenuous welcome.'

He nodded.

'Let's.'

He took her hand in his, at peace as he walked through the door to the sitting room. Alistair and Elizabeth were sat together on the comfortable chaise longue, speaking quietly amongst themselves, her hands in his, both seeming calmer in the wake of their respective discussions.

Alistair's eyes flicked up, catching his, and he smiled briefly, content, before turning his attention to the inquisitor, nodding to her, the same smile still present. She nodded back, seemingly unfazed that Elizabeth had not acknowledged her, but the woman seemed to be too busy cuddling up to her husband as he wrapped his arms around her.

Warmed by the sight, calmed by the events of the day and the clear improvement in Artemis's mood, he smiled to himself, leading her out of the royal suite. Nothing was certain, but it looked like there was a chance, however small, of a positive ending to this after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all you lovely people who have read, kudos'd and commented so far. Always greatly appreciated :)


	8. See what you can salvage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a little girly chat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I'd like to say a massive thank you (once again, I know) to everyone who bothers to read, comment and kudos etc on this story. I actually can't tell you how much it means to have gotten such positive feedback from people.
> 
> Secondly I'd like to apologise for the lateness of this chapter.
> 
> Third, I'd like to apologise for the length of this chapter. It is lengthy and...talky, so much talking. I tried to make it interesting but...y'know...lots of talking.
> 
> And I promise the smut is still coming and I'm estimating chapter 10 (I know it's been a ridiculously drawn out amount of time now but it just...happened), so thank you for bearing with me and indulging me.
> 
> As a note on the chapter, this takes place at the same time as the last chapter, so the girls are talking while the boys are in the bedroom, just in case it isn't clear.
> 
> And now I'll shut up and let you read.
> 
> Enjoy!

'And for the record, swooping is bad.'

The words that King Alistair hissed at the women as he disappeared through the doorway to the bedroom left Artemis utterly confused as she stood awkwardly in the royals' appointed suite. The thick mahogany door closed with a resounding clunk and a click, a disconcerting sort of finality to the noise.

She swallowed thickly. Without Cullen by her side her courage suddenly faltered, leaving her feeling small and alone in the large room, wavering under the hard stare of Queen Elizabeth.

Her Majesty was sat before her, having made little movement now that her husband had left, though she had drawn herself straighter, her shoulders pulled back in a defiant posture. It drew attention to the lines of toned muscles across her shoulders, the firm curve of developed biceps barely hidden beneath the light material of her dress, and Artemis understood just why the woman could punch like a Qunari. 

A warrior queen indeed. 

Still, her nerves weren't about to stop her now, Artemis thought. If she could take down Corypheus, she could sit and have a civil discussion with the woman in front of her. Because that's all she was really, wasn't she? Human. Flesh and blood, with her own vulnerabilities and insecurities, just like anyone else.

Artemis had known she'd hit a nerve the second the words had slipped from her mouth in the war room yesterday. The way the woman had paled, the distress on her face in the moments before she had fled, apparently in tears, was clear.

She hadn't meant to offend her. In all honesty, she hadn't meant for anything of this nature to happen at all, but somehow in the past few days, between both of their tempers, they had managed to mess things up entirely.

She took a breath, gathering her nerve, meeting the Queen's sharp gaze levelly, unwilling to flinch away from the undercurrents of anger in that look.

'May I sit, your Majesty?' she gestured to the carved wooden chair set at the table in the centre of the room, directly opposite the woman in question.

Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow, lips slightly pursed before she waved a hand almost dismissively.

'As you like, inquisitor.'

Artemis slid into the seat, watching the woman carefully as she did. If she hadn't been sat on the sofa she could have been mistake for a soldier on parade, her posture so cultivated, so carefully held. It told of her self control, her power, though the brief flicker in her eyes told of defensiveness, her stillness a mask to hide her own anxiety.

'Did our healer attend to you, ma'am?' she enquired tentatively.

'He did.'

'I trust that his services were satisfactory?'

'Get to the point, Trevelyan.' The Queen snapped, impatience evident, hostility pouring from every motion, every posture.

'I...' she faltered under the venomous glare of the older woman, certain that she could feel her hate and the idea of simply making her excuses and leaving sprang to mind. She pushed it away just as quickly. It would do no one any favours to run away from her responsibility here.

'You came here to discuss yesterday's events, did you not?'

She stilled herself, another calming breath.

'Yes, your Majesty. Though...a discussion, is not necessary, I feel. I came because I wanted to apologise for my behaviour yesterday.'

The queen studied her for a moment, eyes hard still before she simply nodded.

'Apology accepted.'

The tone of her voice suggested it was anything but. There was no change in the woman's posture, no relaxing of muscles or softening of eyes to suggest the words meant anything to her at all. Artemis remained frozen, unsure of how to react to such an obivous rejection, and she felt her resolve waver as the queen's brow creased, irritation flickering over her face.

'Is there something else you wanted, inquisitor?' she asked sharply, the meaning behind the question clear.

Get out.

Indignation flared in her stomach, her chest, sharp and angry at the woman's dismissal and Artemis felt her hands clench into fists momentarily before she pulled her temper into check. She couldn't afford to lose any composure again, couldn't afford to make another mistake here.

When she didn't make any move to leave, the queen's eyebrow lifted once more.

'I'm sure you have other things to be attending to, do you not?' She asked again, her voice harder, though her years as a diplomat clearly prevented her from saying exactly what she wanted to. It was just as well that she had that skill, for Alistair certainly didn't.

'As it happens, ma'am, I don't. As our guests, your happiness is my primary concern for the duration of your visit.'

'Is it now?' The queen leaned back slightly, reclining into the soft cushions of the seat. 'You do have an interesting way of showing it, inquisitor. For all the Orlesians detest us, I don't believe even Empress Celene has attempted to cater for my comfort by slapping and insulting me.'

And there is was, the matter they had been dancing around, out in the open in just a single sentence.

'Your Majesty, I understand that my behaviour was unacceptable, but I assure you that the Inquisiton wants nothing more than to ensure your stay with us is pleasant.'

'Oh, I have no doubt that the Inquistion does.' The redhead replied, voice laced with disdain.

Ah. So that was it, Artemis mused. She didn't believe that the apology was sincere, only a way of patching up the political ramifications of their deteriorating relationship.

'When I say the Inquisition I mean...' Artemis corrected, only to be cut off as the woman suddenly sat forwards, her attention coming down hard on her.

'When you say 'the Inquisition' you mean 'the Inquisition', inquisitor.' She spat, placing as much emphasis as she could on the title without shouting it, her teeth bared as she scowled at her. 'You have no concern for my personal feelings on the subject are, so long as Ferelden and your organisation remain at peace, of that I am certain.'

She took a deep breath, her narrow chest rising sharply as she composed herself back into her regal state once more, hands that had gripped at the silk of her skirt in fury rearranged gently in her lap. The creases in the silk didn't fade.

'You needn't fear, Lady Trevelyan,' she continued, pointedly not meeting her eye, and worry clawed at Artemis's stomach once more, 'I take your apology for what it is. We will remain civil. I understand that the Inquisition does not wish to become entirely affiliated with Ferelden, for fear of Celene's reaction. That's understandable, perhaps remarkably wise on your part, so we will continue as we have been, yes?'

Tightness spread through Artemis's chest at the queen's words, any attempt that anger might have made to be heard quelled under cold fear at the rejection of her apology. Yes, their political relationship would be safe but that wasn't what she wanted. Well, not all of it anyway, and the words she had spoken to Cullen – that if she didn't accept the apology, then so be it – rang hollow. A friendship with this woman, a woman that she remembered admiring so much before she had met her, might be out of the question but she refused to let her think that there wasn't anything other than political manouevering here. 

Her apology was real. Heartfelt, though the word seemed far too emotionally involved to her. But now she considered it, she was, wasn't she? Because if she wasn't emotionally involved, if she didn't care whether she had Elizabeth's favour or not, she would be out of that door already, wouldn't she?

She took a breath to quell her nerves once again, meeting the steel blue gaze, hoping that if she could hold her attention, she might be able to get through to her.

'Your Majesty, please. I understand why it would look like I'm only doing this for the sake of politics, but please believe me when I say that it is genuine. I regret what I did, what I said...I regretted it as soon as it happened, but you retaliated so fast that I didn't have time to think and...'

'So this is my fault? For not letting you slap me?'

'No! That isn't what I meant, I...'

It was spiralling out of control again, her words only serving to anger the woman she was trying to placate and dismay began to coil through her stomach, setting her nerves on end, just as they had when the woman had barrelled into her. She knew her own faults. When she couldn't win a situation she turned to verbal condemnation everytime, her tongue sharper than was good for her.

But that had already gotten her waist deep in muck as it was. She needed to try something else, to calm herself and push down the anger, and find a way to reach the woman. She was human, that much was obvious, or she wouldn't have been so distressed at her words the other day.

Gritting her teeth, she looked away and then back, meeting the ire of the glowering woman as best as she could.

'...if I may be frank, ma'am.'

'If it makes you feel better, by all means.'

'I appreciate that my manner with you has been less than courteous as of late, but I don't think I'm entirely blameless.'

'Do you not?'

'With all respect, Queen Elizabeth, I've never allowed my pet to urinate on someone's property and not apologised for it. I certainly have never laughed about it, whether I think I can be seen doing so or not.'

'Ah,' some of the glare faded from Elizabeth's eyes at that, and she nodded briefly, 'I see your point. For what it's worth now, inquisitor, I do apologise for both my dog's behaviour and my own. Neither was acceptable, and I should have addressed the issue at the time it occurred.'

'Thank you.'

'It is, however, a ghastly throne.'

She should have been offended at the comment, a sharp contrast to the almost gentle apology that the queen had just given her and yet she couldn't help but smirk in agreement. If the tables were turned, maybe she would've let her dog piss on such an ugly thing.

'You're...not wrong.'

To her amazement, the briefest smile flitted over the queen's face at her words, the detatched facade wavering for a moment. It returned a moment later, her expression carefully quiet once more as she cocked her head, questioning.

'You agree?' She asked, curious.

'That the throne is awful? Yes. Why would I want a dead dragon's mouth in my hall? Andraste preserve me, I didn't want a throne at all but Leiliana and Josephine insisted that the inquisitor had always had a throne and I should stick with the tradition.' 

The words weren't what she wanted to say, more of an admission than she knew she should give, and she feared that it would be taken for weakness, another reason to dismiss her. And yet somehow, they seemed to encourage the queen into continuing their stilted conversation, quickly becoming the longest exchnage they had shared since their meeting on the first day. Alistair had taken charge of most of the negotiations and meetings they had been involved in, and Elizabeth had seemed more than content to let him.

'No doubt your advisors sought to ensure that everyone in Thedas knows that the Inquisition is equal to any country in terms of its political and military might. It was a bold move on their part, with the Inquisition so newly established...but I believe it has paid off for you. So far.'

'So far? You think it might be a problem later?'

The queen lifted an elegantly shaped eyebrow.

'Are you asking for my opinion on the political climate, inquisitor?'

'I...' her mind told her to say no, to shut down the topic and move to a less charged conversation, one that wouldn't potentially undermine the Inquisition's position. And yet instinct told her to press on. The queen's manner was hardly friendly, but the venom had faded from her gaze and her posture, as if being asked for advice appeased her somehow.

'I...suppose I am. It's interesting to get an outside opinion.'

'Then I will have to disappoint you, inquisitor. I am not yet sure that I trust your motives enough to divulge too much on the subject. And besides, I am sure you have your own resources for such things,' she paused, pursing her lips in contemplation, '...but I will say this. The Inquisition and you yourself, are walking a very fine line.'

'How so?'

There was an obivous stuggle on the warden commander's part not to roll her eyes, but she succeeded nevertheless, deigning to indulge her.

'You are juggling relations between two nations that are drastically different and almost continuously on the brink of war. We have signed Empress Celene's peace treaties, but everyone involved knows that if there's enough incentive, it can be broken. The Inquisition is stopping that. Celene fears that if she were to break the treaty and act against Ferelden, they would lose the Inquisiton's support.'

'And she would. We don't support warmongering.'

'And for that, we are all grateful. But you must also consider this; the Inquisition is an organisation. A politically potent and respected one, but nevertheless, still just an organisation.'

'Yes...I'm aware. We don't have the standing that a nation such as Ferelden has, despite what we've achieved.'

Queen Elizabeth inclined her head slightly, a quiet agreement.

'The Orlesian's are somewhat flippant when it comes to many things, but they respect traditions. They may not like Ferelden, but they understand that its royal bloodline dates back four ages. Even for them, that is considered worthy of respect, however superficial.'

Artemis rubbed at her eyes, leaning back in her chair, the carved wood pressing hard against her spine as she did. The implications of politics had always made her head spin, and to be discussing it with a woman who she had barely been able to stand just a short while ago didn't make the feeling ease any.

Dropping her hands into her lap, she looked across to the woman who was reclining against the plush sofa's back once more, looking for all the world like there wasn't anything that concerned her. She wondered if under that peaceful image her heart was beating as hard as her own, her mind racing to every detail of their encounter as hers was. No doubt she was mulling it over, trying to see if threre was a weakness here or there, an angle to be exploited from her.

And yet, impossibly, they seemed to have reached some sort of unspoken agreement to lay the events of the past few days behind. In the back of her mind, an urge to continue sprang up, a need to know more about the woman sitting before her now. For so long she had conjured the image of a grey warden queen, a woman constantly clad in the blue and white armour of her order, accompanied by mabari and advisors alike. When they had met, that image had shattered, unable to comprehend that the Hero of Ferelden was just a person, with as many flaws as anyone else.

And now...now, she felt she was beginning to see the actual person before her, the human behind all the titles. She wanted to know that more than any figurehead, she realised. And so she pressed on, despite the warnings her mind threw at her that she would ruin this tentative respite that had somehow occurred between them.

'How do you cope with it all?'

It wasn't quite what she had intended to ask. It made her seem desperately vulnerable, and she knew it the moment words left her mouth. But it seemed that vulnerability somehow encouraged the older woman. She wondered if she had spent so long guiding people – her husband, her public, her soldiers – that perhaps it was the most comfortable state for her.

'Cope with what?'

'Everything. The politics, the bickering, the constant questions and need for advice and help and...everything.'

A fleeting smile curled at the corner of the queen's mouth again, her expression thoughtful before she shrugged gracefully, the slightest rise and fall of an elegant shoulder.

'It's what I live for.'

'What you live for?'

'Yes. My reason to be, if you like. I enjoy being in the middle of it all; being given problems and finding solutions, helping those who can't help themselves, for whatever the reason and, if I'm honest, I enjoy the attention. Mostly.'

'Mostly?'

'Even I require calm and seclusion on occasion, but mostly, I enjoy being busy.'

'Don't you worry though?' Artemis asked, unable to comprehend how the woman revelled in making decisions, 'Aren't there times when you doubt that what you've advised is right? What if you make a mistake?'

'Then I take responsibility for it. Of course I'm aware that if I make a mistake then I can do far more damage than someone who is in a lesser position might, but I cannot spend all my time wringing my hands in fear of it. I would never achieve anything if I did.'

'But people could die if you make the wong decision.'

'They can, they do and they have. I regret it when it happens and I attempt to minimise the risks I take through understanding the situation, but there are some things that simply cannot be accounted for. Sometime that is my fault, sometimes it isn't.'

'So you just...deal with it.'

'You seem confused about that? In your position, I would think you would have experienced the same.'

'I...I do but I...I have advisors and everyone knows that, I have them to fall back on. You make your decisions by yourself. It's all on you if you make a mistake.'

A sharp smile curved at Elizabeth's lips once more, though her eyes remained impassive.

'I'm glad you think that.'

'Sorry?' Artemis asked, unable to grasp how the woman could be so pleased at being almost solely responsible for her actions.

'To clarify, I am pleased that you are under the impression that I make my decisions entirely alone and that you believe I cope with the repercussions of those alone.'

'I...'

The queen sighed.

'You don't take my meaning?'

She shook her head, still baffled by what the woman was trying to get at.

Dark blue eyes rolled to the ceiling, exasperated.

'Maker, you and Alistair are so alike sometimes, I don't know how you're not related.' She muttered, though Artemis suspected the words were spoken mostly to the queen's own self. A moment later, her gaze turned back on her;

'I should not admit this. I don't know why I am but...you remind me of Alistair, when we were younger, and if I was willing to be patient with him then, since we are not actually enemies, I can extend you the same courtesy.'

'Your Majesty?'

'It is an act, inquisitor. My,' she waved her hand lightly, '...ability to deal with all these issues alone. I do not. Alistair and I are a couple, a partnership, we discuss everything, we decide on everything together. But the rest of the world cannot know that. If they did, it would destroy the images of ourselves we have spent the last ten years cultivating.'

'But you always seem...'

'The issue is, inquisitor, as I'm sure you've encountered,' she interrupted her briskly, 'that being a woman in a position of power leads to some difficulties. Mainly that there are those who will not respect your station because of your gender.'

'But...you're the queen. People have to listen to you.'

Elizabeth's humourless smile returned at that.

'No. People have to pretend that they listen to me. In actuality, they only need obey Alistair. He is the king, he has the power. So, in order to ensure that I am not undermined, particularly as warden commander, I cannot be seen to falter or question my own decisions. A leader has to be sure of themselves at all times and so even if I do make a mistake, no matter how much the results of it may pain me, I cannot let the masses see more than an acknowledgment of that. Does that make sense you?'

'It does, though I've always thought portraying humility and humanity was just as important as portraying strength. If not more so.'

'But you are not a military leader. You have your commander to do that for you. As a warden commander, I do not. For all their faults, Knight-Commander Meredith and Warden Commander Clarel knew this.'

'But they were both...' Artemis trailed off, searching for the appropriate word. She had seen first hand how Clarel had handled the pressures of her position, and she had no doubt that Knight Commander Meredith had been the same. Cullen's accounts of the woman had left no illusions as to that.

'Bitches?' Elizabeth supplied, an eyebrow piqued once more, as if trying to gauge how she would react to the term and the inference that she herself could easily be referred to as one.

'I'm not sure that I would have picked that term but...yes. They were both ruthless.'

'Because they had to be. Because of their positions, their responsibilities and perhaps even more so than any man in their positions would have to be, if only to be considered competent in their roles.'

Artemis paused, rubbing at a temple, her mind reeling at the barrage of information the queen had presented her with. She had never considered the impact that simply being a woman in her scenario would have, and yet for the queen, it seemed to be one of the most important aspects of how she approached her duties.

'With respect, your Majesty, I disgree. It may have worked for them in some regards, but I don't believe that singlemindedly clinging to the idea of strength actually makes you any stronger. It means you just charge through every form of opposition with what looks like brute force. Doesn't that undermine you and your capability to rationalise and reason?'

The queen stared at her, her gaze uncompromising and discomfort crawled up Artemis's spine. She froze, suddenly wanting to just make another apology and leave, say that she did her best but apparently couldn't do anything more than insult the other woman. Perhaps not speaking to her would have been the safest option after all.

So certain was she that she had ruined the carefully balanced moment that when the queen spoke again, she was certain she had misheard;

'I...I am hesitant to admit this but...I had not considered it that way.'

Artemis blinked, taken aback by the admission, by thoughtfulness on the older woman's face. She was not looking at her now, instead her gaze was locked sightlessly onto the large vase of roses in the centre of the room.

'When everyone died at Ostagar, Alistair was so agrieved by the loss that he wasn't in any position to try and lead, even if he had wanted to. I assumed that I had to be the leader then, that I had to be strong for everyone...after a year of it, it just became how I dealt with it, all the time.'

'But...not with Alistair, right? You're still able to be completely open with him, aren't you?' she asked tentatively, trying to understand just where the woman drew her lines, where the warden commander stopped and where the queen began. Where the queen stopped and she just became Elizabeth.

Because honestly, how did one person juggle so many roles and responsibilities and the judgements of others that went with them?

'Yes.' 

Artemis looked to the woman as she began speaking again, her eyes still distant with thought.

'Always, for Alistair. He's a kind man, a good man, always so gentle. I don't think he could bear it if I couldn't be myself around him and I suspect that I would lose my mind. It's only ever been him, really.'

There was a smile on her face now. Genuine this time, a soft curve of her lips, the warmth of which finally seemed to reach her eyes and the expression seemed to grow stronger as she focused on the roses to Artemis's side, as if the only thing in the world worth smiling for was her husband and the roses that so clearly reminded her of him.

She was beautiful when she smiled, Artemis thought, regarding the other woman quietly, trying not to stare but unable not to. It wasn't that she wasn't beautiful when she wasn't smiling, because she was, undeniably so and in such an effortlessly elegant way that it made her seethe with jealousy. But her stately elegance was regal and refined and cold. When she smiled, it brought a warmth to her face, a humanity in her that only Elizabeth posessed, that the queen or commander couldn't because they were only roles to be filled, not definitions of who she was.

She couldn't blame Cullen for smiling when he had danced with her, because although she had still been playing a role even then, she clearly enjoyed dancing, and her joy had been genuine.

And then the woman's attention snapped back to her, her eyes hardening once more, and the tenuous understanding she had of her seemed to flee in the wake of those eyes.

'That is a remarkable talent you have, inquisitor. I see now why you lead the way you do.'

Confusion bloomed at her words, and Artemis felt her brow furrowing in response, words tumbling out before she had time to think again.

'What talent?'

'I have spent the last ten years cultivating this image of who I am to everyone who isn't Alistair. And you have managed to make me admit that it's simply a facade in the space of...what, half an hour? It is impressive, I admit, but highly disconcerting.'

'You think I'm doing this on purpose?'

'It's a very clever strategy, inquisitor, and you do it well. It makes sense now, how so many have flocked to the inquisition. You appear to offer understanding and friendship, a gentle form of leadership and one people have no idea they are falling under. Very impressive, I must say.'

Artemis shook her head, denying the words as she looked back to the queen, her posture schooled once more.

'This isn't an act. This isn't some manipulation or tactic or...ploy.' Anger coiled in her stomach at the suggestion. She had never sought to be anything but honest with people and the idea that the queen thought she was being intentionally manipulative was not only offensive, but utterly hurtful.  
'You may use a mask, but I don't. I don't need to. If I offer aid, or support or friendship or apology, I do so because I wish to, not because I think it's strategically beneficial.'

'So it just happens to contribute to your cause? I find that hard to believe.'

'You seem to find everything hard to believe. I know you gained your position in a different way than I've gained mine, I've heard of the hardships you've gone through to get where you are now, but that doesn't mean that because my approach is different that it's any less real than yours, even if you struggle to understand that.'

To her credit, the queen had the good grace to look abashed at that, though the expression flickered before returning, settling over her face uneasily. It was as though she was trying to decide whether she was genuine.

'Your Majesty. If I was trying to manipulate you and turn you to my cause, why would I have been so...' she paused, sighing, considering her choice in words 'If I wanted to manipulate you, if I was doing it intentionally, then surely I would have done it from the moment we met?'

'You make a good point, but it could simply be an elaborate deception.'

Artemis huffed.

'There's no deception, no ploy here. I lash out when I feel threatened. End of.'

She sat back in her chair, arms folded across her chest, feeling irritation curl through her belly at the queen's dismissal of her honesty.

'And why would you feel threatened, exactly?'

Artemis lifted an eyebrow as she looked back to the other woman. Her tone had been wary but curious, and Artemis straightened slightly.

'You're joking, right? Why would I not be?'

'I don't believe that anyone in your position should feel threatened by anything.'

'That's funny. I thought the same about you.'

The queen's head tilted at that, amusement brightening her eyes for a moment.

'I see. Perhaps...I have misunderstood you, inquisitor.'

'I think maybe we both have.'

The red head nodded slightly.

'Yes. I think you're probably right on that count.' She sniffed slightly, her eyes wandering back to the roses for a moment before she looked back to her again 'Perhaps then, a truce is in order? I confess that...I don't trust you. Not yet, but...perhaps there is time for that.'

'If you did trust me after everything you'd be an idiot.' 

The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and she stared at the queen, hoping that she hadn't just shattered the carefully constructed understanding they had arrived at. To her surprise, the queen laughed lightly.

'Indeed, I would be. So then, a truce, inquisitor. And your apology is accepted.'

'I....thank you.'

'And for what it is worth...I apologise for my own behaviour these past few days.'

'I...wouldn't expect one for that, your Majesty. I haven't been particularly reasonable.'

The queen simply smiled again, amusement present, though she didn't voice it.

'Well...I,' Artemis stood decisively, 'I should take my leave of you, providing you have no objections.'

'None, inquisitor. Thank you for the...discussion.It has given me much to think on.'

'And me. Could we...maybe talk again, tomorrow, if it suits you?'

'I think that would probably be a good idea.'

'Then I'll send a messenger with the arrangements.'

She offered a small curtsey to the woman, feeling the weight that had been pressing on her chest for the past week easing slightly as the warden commander nodded in acknowledgement.

Striding to the door, she knocked quickly, hoping that Alistair and Cullen had finished with...well, whatever it was they were doing in there.

A moment's pause and the king called to her, granting access to the room and she entered to see both men smiling lightly, a light blush across each of their faces. Suspicion briefly flitted through her mind, but she pushed it away in favour of answering Alistair's question before crossing over to Cullen.

She had so much to tell him and it seemed that finally, things were getting back to where they should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, congratulations. I have no reward to give other than a thank you and hopefully encouraging your own sense of achievement in getting to the end of this drivel.
> 
> Thanks again. As always, kudos, comments, subscriptions and constructive criticism all greatly appreciated.
> 
> Until next time :)


	9. Opportunity knocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of something good, perhaps?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies once again to all you lovely readers for the delay with this chapter. I've been struggling a bit with how to bridge the gap between our ladies, but hopefully (after much brainstorming) I might have just found a way.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the chapter :)

The invite came early in the day, a note from the inquisitor, requesting their Majesties' presence for lunch and an opportunity to speak privately. It was signed in the young woman's almost scrawling handwriting, though the letter itself had clearly been written by someone with a much neater hand.

The careful but bold curve of the script screamed of Cullen, his diligence, his attention to detail, every i dotted and every t lined and Alistair smirked to think that the inquisitor got her partner to write it for her. He did the same thing, when Elizabeth had the time, and so the idea wasn't particularly surprising to him.

The fact that she had requested them to meet in her own personal quarters was.

'I imagine Artemis is using the location to make it clear that this is a discussion of a more personal nature, rather than diplomatic.' Elizabeth had suggested when he had commented on it.

'Isn't that what you did yesterday? How much do you women have to talk about?'

'It wasn't as personal as you seem to think. We mostly discussed politics and...leadership strategies.'

He lifted an eyebrow at that.

'Leadership strategies? You mean how you two are secretly planning to rule the world?'

'Very secretly, if we are. So secretly in fact, that I've heard nothing of it.'

He laughed lightly, watching his wife as she coiled her hair into a loose bun.

'So...not the best of friends just yet then?'

She glanced over her shoulder to him at that, a gentle roll of blue eyes.

'We agreed a truce. Nothing more. Just some time to set aside the issues we've had to try and understand one another better. I wouldn't get your hopes up, my love.'

Alistair frowned.

'But the two of you would be unstoppable if you worked together.'

It was her turn to laugh at that, standing from her seat at the dressing table.

'Then it's probably just as well for the sake of the world that we don't at the moment, isn't it?' she smiled, picking up a delicate gold chain from the dresser and looping it around her neck. 'Besides, we weren't the only ones having a nice long chat yesterday, as I recall.'

'Cullen and I always chat. That's not a surprise.'

'Yes well, given that you were glaring at him rather fiercely when you went into the bedroom, I thought you might be discussing a little more than just the weather.'

'You see right through this charmingly boyish facade of mine, don't you?'

She simply smiled at him again at that, striding across the room to wrap her arms about his waist, blue eyes meeting his own darker gaze.

'So...care to divulge?'

'Well you know just manly things like...grr, your woman better not attack my woman again or you'll have to go through me. It was all very masculine, I think you'd have been rather titillated by it.'

'Titillated, is it? Well...the thought of you and the commander all bare chested and writhing as you struggle for dominance is rather intriguing. However, I get the impression you might be embellishing slightly.'

'...maybe...' he blushed.

'So what did happen?'

He snuffled slightly, unsure of what she would make of the truth. He certainly didn't want her thinking that his brief kiss with Cullen was an act of infidelity on his part. She had always been interested in the idea of them together since she had found out...but that had happened long before they were married. For him to have kissed the man after he had taken his vows to her...

'We...talked.'

'Yes, I gathered that much. About what?'

'You two. We argued a bit then...we talked about you and Artemis and the taint and...I may have said a bit too much...'

She cocked an eyebrow.

'How so?'

'I may have told him about how we haven't produced an heir because of the taint.'

'And by 'may' you mean definitely did.' Her tone was irked as she spoke and he felt a pang of guilt as her dark eyes held his.

'...maybe.' He squeaked, wincing as she sighed with exasperation.

'We are lucky that Cullen isn't the type prone to gossip.' She commented, her own way of forgiving him.

'Yes. And then...'

'There's more?'

'I may have gotten a bit upset and...we sort of um, cuddled.'

'Cuddled?'

'Cuddled. You know, hugged, a bit. Sort of.'

'But no caboodling, I take it?' she asked, humour present in her voice, and he laughed lightly once more before guilt sobered him.

He never could keep a secret from her.

'And,' he started, watching her bright gaze as it locked onto him again '...we may have...kissed.'

He expected her eyes to darken again, the deep blue giving way to a stronger, greyer shade as it always did when her ire had been stoked. Instead, they turned the deepest shade of sapphire, pupils dilating as she looked up at him, a pleased smile curving softly painted lips.

'Kissed?'

He blushed furiously at the roll of the word over her tongue, the soft purr in her voice, so much deviousness present in her tone as she looked up at him that he felt like a fumbling wooless chantry boy again. He knew that tone, that look; the one she wore when she had pounced on an idea she liked and was not for letting it go.

'Um,' he swallowed thickly as her hands crept up his chest, '...yes. Does that...um...is that something that you're...interested in?'

'Oh I think I've made my feelings on that perfectly clear before now.'

'Well yes, but,' he paused as a hand curled around the back of his neck, a finger stroking across his hairline 'I didn't think that...well there are fantasies and there are...'

It was the soft press of her lips against his that cut his babbling short, her body pressed insistently against his in just a moment and he groaned at the feeling of her with only a few thin layers between them.

She released him a moment later, her thumb coming to rest on his cheek.

'Yes, Alistair, I'm interested. Very interested in seeing you and Cullen together and no, there is no jealousy, no catch, no downside, on my part.'

'Really?'

'Of course. Do you trust me?'

He smiled gently at the words, moving to kiss gently at the palm resting on his cheek.

'Always.'

'Good. Now, if I can't have you and Cullen in front of me, I suppose I'll have to make do with just you for now then, won't I?'

She smirked up at him once more, lust still alight in her eyes and he grinned back at her as she pecked at his lower lip before shedding her dressing gown in one smooth motion. She was bare beneath, smooth white skin decorated with pink and silver scars, and his breath caught as he looked upon his wife once more, his attention wavering from her only when she pounced on him, pinning him to the bed behind them.

\--

They were running late. They should have met the Artemis and Cullen half an hour ago but had lost track of the time with all their...amorous dealings.

Alistair cleared his throat as he hurried along beside his wife, striding along the long corridors easily as if she hadn't just been thoroughly taken. Worry niggled at the back of his mind, concerned that the temporary truce that had occurred yesterday might not hold up under prolonged contact between the two women.

But they had to try.

He still couldn't fathom how they didn't get along, despite their differences in style. They were both born leaders, and he just hoped that they could find some common ground in that. Perhaps swap a few stories, get to know each other a little better...and maybe not start a war in the meantime.

The door to the inquisitor's chambers loomed before them as they ascended Skyhold's main tower, their guide gesturing for them to continue to the top of the stairs before bowing and quickly retreating.

He hoped that wasn't an indication of Artemis's mood as he knocked heavily on the door. Moments passed, nerves sending his heart fluttering, and he suddenly realised how much courage it must have taken the woman to approach them after such an awful turn of events.

She was a braver soul than he, he thought, taking a calming breath. Elizabeth's fingers curled around his own a moment later, her smile steady and reassuring, no question of nerves or hesitation in her eyes.

There was a sudden clunk as the heavy latch on the door was lifted, the dark wood swinging in a moment later to reveal Cullen, and the commander smiled gently in greeting, offering a dipped bow, seemingly calm with the strange situation.

He couldn't help the but notice the other man's eyes held his own for a moment longer than necessary, that his smile became a fraction warmer as he did.

Neither did Elizabeth. His wife's lips suddenly curled into a smug smile, as she watched the commander carefully, the expression not quite quick enough at disappearing from her face as the blonde turned his attention to her. He paused, confused, before gesturing for them to enter his and Artemis' shared chambers.

A man of few words, indeed.

The inquisitor herself was sat at a large round table in the centre of he lavishly decorated room, her back ramrod straight as she noted her guests entering and she stood quickly, hurrying towards them before offering a short curtsey.

'Your Majesties, I'm glad you could join us,' Her eyes flicked to Cullen's, seeking reassurance, 'I had begun to worry that you had changed your minds about our agreement.'

'Not at all, inquisitor,' Elizabeth answered smoothly, 'I apologise for mine and my husband's tardiness. We, ah, lost track of time.'

'Not a problem. Please, if you'd like to take a seat...' she gestured at the table laden with food and Alistair tried to suppress a smirk as Elizabeth smiled lightly, though the sudden brightness in her eyes indicated she was more excited at the prospect of food than she was willing to let on.

Following her to the table, he slipped into a chair next to her, looking over the array of food that they had been presented with. To his surprise, he found he had no appetite, too concerned with carefully watching the room's other occupants, searching for miniscule details in their body language.

It was fairly clearly that Artemis and Cullen were both as on edge as they were as they sat down, and he wondered if just that nervousness which could so easily cause a misplaced word, would cause a breakdown again. Or perhaps that slight show would be enough to remind everyone in this room that they were all, after all, only human.

With their hosts settled at the table, he turned his attention to Elizabeth, his wife smiling politely and thanking the inquisitor as she bade them help themselves. It didn't take much encouragement on Elizabeth's part to begin carefully selecting various items from the spread, though he couldn't help but notice how she fell back into 'queen mode' once more. Slivers of meat and cheese were delicately lifted from their platters and transferred to her plate, the smallest of freshly baked bread rolls set on her side plate, before a few sumptuous strawberries and sweet grapes joined the rest.

Her careful mask in place once more. 

He had overheard nobles talking about her eating habits once, not long after she had been crowned. They had not been particularly pleasant, observing that the queen ate like a Mabari. Which she didn't of course. Her etiquette at the dining table had been meticulous, fitting a woman of her station, trained into her from a young age, but it had simply been the quantities she had eaten that had caused such disparaging remarks. A queen was apparently expected to eat like a sparrow, subsisting off dainty morsels of food that were small enough to be eaten without making her stomach swell. And without satiating her appetite either.

He'd been furious when he'd heard the comments of course and had sharply reminded the nobles in question of her achievements prior to becoming queen, and that as the warrior who had saved Ferelden, she was entitled to eat whatever she wanted, whenever, however and however much she wanted.

The reprimand hadn't changed the situation though, and once the gossip had reached Elizabeth she had changed her habits immediately. In public, she barely ate at all nowadays, confidence eroded for fear of showing him up.  
She paused in her motions when she clearly noticed his eyes on her, turning her head to smile at him, before quizzical eyes glanced to his empty plate. He took his cue, quickly filling the crockery in front of him with as much food as it could hold, knowing full well that to be seen eating less than normal was to admit something was amiss. And everyone knew just how big his appetite normally was.

Wedging a thick slice of cheese into his mouth, he turned his attention back to the conversation, stilted as it was, between Artemis and Elizabeth. Whatever mild accord they had built up yesterday had fled in the wake of a night's sleep, though he couldn't help but notice that neither had their hackles up as they had when their altercation had occurred.

Still, it was uncomfortable, and he searched for a joke in vain, looking for something sharp enough to jolt their respective attentions away from their own awkwardness. Somehow, Cullen got there first. It wasn't a joke though, more of a blunt observation, the likes of which he himself had been known to make before now;

'You don't eat much, do you?'

He almost winced, watching as Artemis's mouth dropped open in horror, her eyes wide as she stared at her partner with disbelief. Elizabeth, to her credit, only glanced down to the half eaten plate of food in front of her, apparently lost for words.

Across from him, Cullen was grimacing, rubbing at his neck once more, thorough abashed.

'Ah...apologies, your Majesty...I meant nothing by it,' he paused, looking to Artemis to save him though the inquisitor was floundering as much as he was 'I...it...was just an observation. I've heard that grey wardens have legendary appetites and those we've known always seemed to fit that so I've just...'

Alistair smirked, unable to mask his amusement at the other man's discomfort, though part of him empathised deeply. He'd been on the receiving end of such responses more than once.

'I think,' he cut in, attempting to save the drowning commander, 'that what Cullen is trying to say, is that you don't need to stand on ceremony, my dear.'

A glance to the commander and he gave a jerky nod in agreement before offering a grateful smile to him.

'I thank you commander, but it's quite alright. I've eaten my fill for now.'

'Is the food not to your liking, ma'am?' Artemis asked, concern knitting her brows.

Elizabeth waved her away.

'It's quite pleasant, inquisitor, thank you. I just...never have been a big eater.'

The sudden snort left Alistair's nose unbidden, the noise grating through the air and Elizabeth's attention snapped to him. Undermining his wife's position, even accidently, was never a wise decision and she seemed to be deliberating over whether it was worth publicly shaming him. She never would, of course, even in her foulest moods she always held her temper in check until they were in private.

Which was the perfect reason to press on. If he was already in this deep, might as well keep digging. Guilt wracked him at the thought of making his beloved more uncomfortable than she already was, but he had a cunning plan. Well, at least he thought it was cunning anyway. 

He'd always thought the gifting and receiving of food as a particularly potent tool for settling differences. It had never failed to make him more pliant, and if Elizabeth's hunger was half as much as his own was, and he was well aware that it was, it might just be the thing needed to make her more accepting of Artemis's attempts at consolation. And having her gestures received positively might just be enough to make Artemis change her mind about Elizabeth's stand offish demeanour.

At least, he hoped it would. It didn't hurt to try, right?

' 'Lis,' he urged gently 'it's fine. No one cares about how much you eat. Not here. Just please, have your fill for once.'

Steel-shot blue eyes turned on him, fierce anger in her gaze, and he almost recoiled under the force of it. In the back of his mind, he wondered how Artemis, who barely knew his wife, could cope under the force of such a glare and he admired her courage once more for attempting to repair the relationship when Elizabeth could be so hostile. 

She would forgive him. She always did. But Elizabeth was not a particularly forgiving person by nature and he looked back to the table, searching for something sweet to appease her. She'd always had a sweet tooth.

A plate in the centre of the table caught his gaze, beautifully glazed and iced cinnamon sweetrolls on a silver dish and he plucked the most appealing he could see from it.

Dipping his head between his shoulders, he gazed up at her, his best puppy dog eyes in play as he presented the item in question to his glaring wife.

'Sweet roll, for my...uh...sweet roll?'

From the corner of his eye he saw Artemis and Cullen watching with rapt attention, waiting to see if his plan would work or if they would have to vacate the room when Elizabeth's temper erupted.

Still blue eyes glared down at him, her mouth pursed before her gaze strayed from his own to glance at the other couple, weighing up options in her mind before she turned back to him. With a sigh, and a warning glare that they weren't quite done with this yet and Maker help him when she got him back to their room, she plucked the sticky pastry from his outstretched fingers.

Shoulders fell as she leant back into her chair, relaxing as she pulled a hunk of dough from the sweet, popping it into her mouth elegantly and chewing on it slowly, eyes closed, as if she had never enjoyed anything quite so much before in her life.

When she had swallowed her bite she glanced back to him again, eyes softer with pleasure, and she delicately licked sticky sugar from her thumb and forefinger. Lust shot to his groin at the sight of her pink tongue darting against long white fingers and he crossed his legs as he leant back in his own chair, just in time to catch both inquisitor and commander staring at Elizabeth with unabashed surprise. What was more interesting, was the deep blush across Artemis's cheeks as she tracked Elizabeth's movements.

Cullen's own interest in her was a given but Artemis...well...he had never even considered that one...

With a self satisfied sigh, his queen popped the roll back onto her plate, looking up at Artemis, her expression almost defiant, as if she dared the younger woman to comment. Instead, she nodded to herself;

'You'll have to give your baker my thanks, inquisitor. These are delightful.'

Across the table, Artemis's flush deepened.

'I...will, thank you, your Majesty. I'm glad you like them.'

'If I may ask, ma'am,' Cullen murmured, attracting her attention and Alistair lifted an eyebrow at the commander's hesitancy '...I don't quite understand why eating a sweetroll is such a challenge...'

Elizabeth settled back into her chair, fingers laced as she regarded him, as if trying to decide whether he deserved to hear the answer. Eventually she sat forwards again.

'This may seem...trivial, to you, commander but...well, as you've said. Wardens in general tend to have somewhat large appetites. I am no exception to that. The issue is simply that I am also Queen, and many of our court members,' she glanced away briefly and Alistair caught her gaze, smiling gently, reassuring '...many of our court members do not feel that a Queen should possess such a need for food. Apparently I'm supposed to sustain myself on air and political niceties.'

There was a snort from across the table, somewhere between amused and derisive and Artemis glanced up from her plate apologetically at her reaction.

Cullen on the other hand, merely frowned at the absurdity of it, leaning forwards.

'But you're also the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, a renowned warrior. I don't understand...'

'Noble's are often somewhat unreasonable when it comes to their expectations, commander. And although I am loathe to give in to other people's ridiculous opinions most of the time, this one is something I have not been able to rebuke. My title as warden commander seems to lose it's meaning by the day, especially with the events at Adamant. Clarel's madness cost us dearly, and so I am only queen, in court. No longer much of a commander.'

'And they think that eating isn't something that befits a queen?'

'Apparently not. In any case, at the time I became queen I was not willing to risk any behaviour that would jeopardise Alistair's position on the throne, and, believe it or not, my behaviour easily could. I have spent so long conforming to the court's expectations that it has simply become habit. If I wish to eat my fill, I do it privately.'

'But that's absurd!'

'You're not wrong.' Alistair commented offhandedly, watching the exchange between his wife and his former lover. Anger simmered quietly in his stomach, still remembering those days when Elizabeth had started to hide her eating habits.

'But surely you must be starving most of the time, the warden's appetite being as it is?' Artemis asked, and Alistair couldn't help but smile at the woman's indignation. Perhaps bridges were being mended after all, if she could sympathise so.

'I learned to cope with it, and it has lessened as of late.' Elizabeth responded, though her eyes were drawing distant again, memories playing behind her eyes.

'Is that...' Artemis hesitated, suddenly seeming to think better of her question, pulling away from the table slightly, as if she feared Elizabeth's wrath. Which would probably be a wise thing, in all honesty, Alistair thought, smirking slightly.

'Ask your question, Artemis. A little curiosity never killed anyone. Well, except maybe a few cats but...you know...'

He trailed off as Artemis frowned at him, confused, before gathering herself again and turning back to the queen.

'Is that due to the cure that we're not supposed to know about?'

He saw Elizabeth's spine stiffen immediately at the mention of the cure, her eyes narrowing as they flicked between Artemis and Cullen before settling on him. He swallowed quietly.

'I really shouldn't have told her to ask her question, should I?'

'In retrospect Alistair, no, you probably shouldn't,' she sighed heavily, anger fading in favour of exasperation and he reached out to touch at her arm gently, reassuring, seeking forgiveness '...but I should have expected this.'

She straightened again, head lifting and her hand finding his before she turned back to Artemis.

'This does not go beyond these walls, inquisitor.' She warned. Artemis nodded.

'Of course, ma'am. You have our complete confidence.'

'...Yes. I was searching for a cure for the taint. And I may have found it, after a good deal of research.'

'May have found it?'

'I found...something. A tonic which may or may not have worked. We have yet to see any real effects, though it has been several months since we both took it,' she glanced to him and he smiled again, hand tightening on hers. 'I am...losing hope that it has.'

'How would you know though? I mean, as my understanding of it goes, that taint is what causes the calling, isn't it? So you can't really know unless the calling comes soon or doesn't come at all.'

Elizabeth shook her head gentle, the red waves of her fringe bouncing with the motion.

'You've already demonstrated knowledge of the effects of the taint, the common ones anyway. You're aware of increased appetite, and I assume you've heard of the greater stamina wardens have, in addition to our ability to sense the darkspawn.'

The inquisitor nodded hesitantly.

'I am still experiencing these, as is Alistair. We cannot be sure if the side effects of the taint will disappear completely with the cure, but I had hoped that they might and it would be a sign for us of the potions efficacy.'

'So you can't be sure?'

'There is only one thing that would ease my mind as to whether it had or not, and it has not happened yet. In all honesty, it is the only one I truly care about, other than staving off death for a few more years.'

Alistair frowned as Elizabeth skirted around the subject of their heir, feeling unease settle into his stomach again. Although he had already admitted to Cullen about their lack of success in conceiving a child so far, he didn't know how much the man had passed on to his lover. From Artemis's expression of confusion, he guessed not. He found he didn't know whether he wanted Elizabeth to share that particular piece of information. She had always been uncomfortable admitting about their fertility issues, even to their closest friends and family. 

'And what's that?'

Alistair flinched at the question. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cullen do the same, the commander trying to quietly communicate to his partner that the question wasn't appropriate. She seemed to have already realised herself though, her face suddenly pained, an apology tumbling from her lips.

And yet even he was surprised when Elizabeth smiled softly, shaking her head, seemingly amused by the younger woman's brashness.

'I really should reprimand you for such boldness, inquisitor. But then I have become far too accustomed to people walking on eggshells around me. The question is valid, if slightly impertinent...' the smile faded from her face as she sobered, thinking about how to phrase the answer.

It came in a hurtfully succinct delivery.

'It is common knowledge that after ten years, Alistair and I have not produced an heir, isn't it?'

There was a moment of hesitation, of silence on all their parts, as the meaning of her words sank in, her face carefully schooled once more, though her hands fisted in the fine cotton of her skirts. Her reached out to her, covering a balled fist with his own palm, tugging gently, encouraging her to take his hand, to take comfort where she needed it.

Slim fingers intertwined with his own, gripping lightly, twitching in a silent thanks even as she watched the inquisitor calmly. His heart swelled with pride to see her like this, as it always did, calm and composed even when her emotions battered at her. 

He turned his attention back to the other couple, neither Cullen nor Artemis knowing how to respond to the question, regardless of it's rhetoric nature. In fact, Artemis seemed to be struggling to decide how to do anything, her face pale and lips parted in dismay. The realisation of just how tender a nerve she had struck after their scuffle the other day plain on her face.

Eventually the younger woman swallowed, composing herself.

'I...didn't realise. I'm so sorry, Elizabeth.'

Elizabeth simply gave a tight lipped smile in response and he squeezed her hand again. He had always tried to reassure her that it would work out alright in the end, that it would happen for them one day, that something would change. Even now he hoped, somewhere deep inside where his long since forgotten enthusiasm lay, that it would still be possible.

'This cure...you understand, is our only hope to have children,' he spoke quietly, looking up at Artemis, filling in for Elizabeth's sudden silence. 'If our people, if our Bannorn, were to realise that the reason we haven't had children yet is because we're both wardens...'

'They would ask you to find a new wife. Yes.' Artemis finished, shame spreading over her face once more as she remembered her harsh words.

'Which I can't do. I'd happily leave the throne for someone else.'

Elizabeth shook her head, turning to him.

'You can't do that Alistair. If duty dictates you find a new wife, then you will simply have to.'

'It's not up for discussion, 'Lis.' he frowned at her. They had had this argument a thousand times before and neither of them were willing to budge on their positions. He would not see her cast aside like an item that had lost it's value, no matter what she said. They had been through too much together to be parted now.

'Besides...' he began, a cocky eyebrow lifting, forcing joviality into his voice as his heart sunk at her hopeless expression '...Maybe we just need to try harder. That must be it, definitely need to put more effort in.'

The bawdy joke had worked before, more than once. But that had been years ago when they'd been younger and more optimistic and they both knew that it wasn't the answer, even in jest. Instead of the light hearted laugh he had expected she simply pinched at the bridge of her nose.

'Alistair...'

There was nothing for it. In times like this, when humour failed, there was only one trick left up his sleeve.

Still acutely aware that they were being watched by the other two, and not giving a damn for it either, he reached out to grab his wife in both arms, pulling her into him before liberally peppering her face and neck with kisses.

She shrieked, she always shrieked, twisting and wriggling in his arms in a most unladylike manor, her hands swatting at his head and shoulders. But the shrieks were turning to delighted giggles, despite her protestations, her stern, proper manner and her worries dissipating under the onslaught of his affections.

It always worked and he grinned down at his writhing wife, gathered safely in his arms, as if his physical presence could protect her from all their worries. They both knew it couldn't but it eased them both to believe it for a few moments, enraptured in each other, the version of her that only he ever saw. And now, briefly, the inquisitor and her commander.

Their eyes strayed over to the couple at the same moment, finding them both looking equally surprised at the display, mouths slightly parted at the the sight of them and he met Cullen's eye, confused when the man turned away, blushing. Artemis, on the other hand, seemed unable to pull her attention away and it wasn't until he followed her gaze downwards that he realised why.

His hand was on Elizabeth's thigh. This in itself was not a rare occurrence, nor was it anything particularly inappropriate. He supposed it might have something more to do with the fact that during their playful tussle, Elizabeth's skirts had hiked and bunched up before becoming entangled around her legs, so high that thin strap of her high cut undergarments was on display. His fingertips rested lightly on her bare skin, unconsciously tracing meandering patterns over the blank canvas, stoking a fire he had only quelled this morning.

It was Elizabeth's voice that pulled him from his thoughts, her low voice sharply toned and yet somehow oddly teasing.

'Something caught your attention, inquisitor?'

It was almost the same question he had asked Cullen a little over a week ago, the same one that had sparked so many problems between all of them. Surprise struck him once more. He had never considered that Elizabeth might be interested in another woman in such a way, nevermind that it was a woman who she was at odds with.

But then his mind flicked back to that time in the Pearl during the Blight. How Elizabeth had flirtatiously propositioned Isabela, then suggested that the three of them might spend the night together. He had turned it down at the time, embarrassed and uncertain, painfully aroused at the prospect but certain that it was some sort of trick, that if he had said yes, it would've turned out to be a test of his fidelity to her.

He had cursed himself in the years that had followed, for giving up such an opportunity. Hope sparked in his chest, wondering if such an opportunity might present itself again, that the four of them might share a wonderfully pleasant night together.

He found Cullen's eyes again, seeing his own emotions mirrored on the other man's face; surprise, tempered by lust at the idea, those golden irises dark with the idea and he watched as the man rubbed at the back of his neck, turning his gaze away from Elizabeth's exposed legs.

So...he wouldn't say no, it would seem.

But would Artemis? Would she be as interested in the idea of sharing her commander with them? Would she want what his queen was suggesting?

The woman was staring at Elizabeth still, though suspicion had crawled onto her face now, her brow slightly furrowed, her cheeks stained a light pink.

After a moment, Elizabeth shook her head, and the moment passed, opportunity lost once more. He would have sighed, if he dared, but his wife was already climbing out of his lap, letting her skirts drop down to cover her legs once more, offering an apology to the other woman as she did;

'Excuse my boldness, inquisitor. All this talk of...creating children...has put me in an odd mind. Perhaps I need to get some air.'

'Yes, of course. Air. Solves all problems.' He drawled, pulling Elizabeth's attention back to him.

'If I might suggest...' Cullen cut in before she could say anything 'It is a pleasant day. It may not be such a bad idea for us all to clear our heads outside.'

'That sounds like an excellent idea, commander. Do you both ride?'

'As in, horses?' Artemis asked, finally finding her voice again and Alistair smirked to himself at the light whine in her tone.

'Unless you have other ideas of things to ride, yes.'

He snorted at that, climbing to his feet.

'Ah..right,' Artemis nodded, looking reluctant 'Yes of course. We do. Horse riding. Wonderful.'

Amusement bubbled through him at the inquisitor's reaction, though he stifled his laugh in his fist, sliding an arm around his wife's waist as she made arrangements. Riding was one of the few things they disagreed on.

For him, riding was a necessity, a thing you did if you really, really had to get from one place to another quickly. Horses hated him, as a rule. They were sneaky things, dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle. And they always seemed to know just when to throw him off, or startle at something or misbehave...or just where to deposit their droppings for the maximum level of his embarrassment.

Elizabeth loved the damn things, loved riding, loved – of all things – being in the stables and mucking out, when she got the rare opportunity. She claimed it was calming, good for the soul. Any chance to ride, and she would take it, as stately and at ease on a horse as she was on her own two feet.

He couldn't think of anything worse and it seemed the inquisitor seemed to share his feelings on the subject. But she simply smiled tightly, indulging her guest and he offered a sympathetic smile, letting the poor woman know that she wasn't alone.

And besides, if anyone was going to fall off an animal and injure themselves, it was going to be him. Of that he was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading.
> 
> Kudos, comments and constructive criticism etc. are greatly appreciated as always.


	10. Riding challenges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ride to clear the air and their minds leaves Cullen with something to think on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there, I promise...
> 
> Enjoy!

If there was one advantage of living in the Frostback mountains, it was the crisp clean air that was ever present. That and the beautiful views. Even on the dullest, cloudiest, rainiest days, which were few and far between, the air was always fresh and there was always a snow capped mountain to be seen.

Cullen had to admit, that among the many things he enjoyed about the Inquisition, the location of its headquarters was one of the main ones. As much as he missed Ferelden from time to time, this really couldn't be beaten and he took a breath of the air as he walked beside Artemis, leading their royal guests down to the stables.

He had been moderately surprised when the queen had insisted that she tack up her horse herself, until Alistair had explained that there was little Elizabeth loved more than her horse, her dog and her prized hunting hawk. The latter was not present, of course, but the Mabari was already waiting at the stables, barking and twirling excitedly at the scent of his owner. He trotted up to them once they were within a few feet, jumping up at Elizabeth almost immediately, his huge paws coming to rest on the woman's narrow shoulders.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the frown on Artemis's face, her eyes focused on the dog's huge feet and more importantly, the worryingly sharp nails that tipped each toe. Whereas most dog breeds had relatively blunt claws, the Mabari's primary purpose as a wardog had lead them to be bred with sharply hooked nails. Though never as sharp as a cat’s and certainly not retractable, they could easily do damage to soft human flesh.

Artemis swallowed noticably, backing away from the animal slightly as his attention moved from Elizabeth to Alistair, greeting his master's mate with enthusiasm and a lick to the cheek before turning his attention to the other two humans.

The hound's eyes were as sharp as his master's, an intense appraising gaze as Barkspawn sniffed tentatively, cocking his head inquisitively at Cullen. He wondered if the dog could recognize that he was Fereldan, if he knew that he had such admiration for the breed, that he had always wanted a Mabari, but knew he would never have one.

Crouching slightly, he extended a gloved fist to the dog, letting the animal sniff at him directly. A moment or two passed, and he held his breath, wondering if he would decide that he wasn't worthy of his attention or, worse yet, an enemy. But a brief moment later and the dog yipped, an oddly high sound from such a large animal, and he licked at the fist Cullen had presented him with before allowing him to scratch behind his sharply pointed ears.

'He seems to like you.' Elizabeth commented, smiling faintly at her faithful companion. 'You should know that that's high praise indeed.'

'Of that, I'm certain, your Majesty.' He patted at the dog's broad back. 'Is this the same Mabari that accompanied you during the Blight?'

'No, I'm afraid not. Unfortunately, he passed away some years ago. The trouble with Mabari is that they're so large that their lifespans aren't too long. He was ten when he died. A good age for a Mabari.'

Cullen nodded, noting the distinct sadness that crossed the woman's face at the mention of her last pet.

'Barkspawn though,' she continued and pride swelled in her voice as she spoke, 'is his eldest son. I started to breed from Bear a few years after we came to the throne. Barkspawn is the eldest of his first litter.'

'I see. And...if I might ask...the name?'

Her lips pursed at that.

'Well...Alistair was so excited about the first litter being born, and he'd never had a pet so...I let him name them. It may have been a mistake, in hindsight.' She glanced over to her husband who grinned broadly.

'I happen to think they're excellent choices.'

'Yes, dear. You would,' she turned her attention back to him 'I haven't let him name a litter since. Apparently it's too great a responsibility for my king to handle.'

Alistair only smirked at that, placing a peck on her cheek.

'You love them really.'

'I would ask what the other two are named, but I dread to think.' Cullen commented, watching as the dog turned its attention to the last member of the group.

'Dogmeat and Wrex.' The king beamed as he spoke, clearly pleased with his choice in names and Cullen had to stifle a laugh as the queen rolled her eyes melodramatically, longsuffering of her husband's humour.

'Umm...your Majesty,' the call came from Artemis and Cullen's attention snapped to her, finding her backing away from the large dog '...could you call your dog off, please?'

The dog, as it turned out, hand merely walked towards Artemis curiously, though the warble of discomfort in her voice made his ears snap back.

'He won't harm you, inquisitor, he's merely curious. The key with Mabari is to be assertive. They need to know who's in charge and they're very sensitive to people's body language.'

'Which would be fine, but I'm not feeling particularly assertive right now...he's awfully big.'

Cullen stole a glance to the queen again, the woman looking perplexed by Artemis's response, before he strode over to Artemis, placing a reassuring hand in the small of her back.

'He's fine, love. Here.' He took her hand in his own, stooping slightly to lower it to the dog, feeling her arm go rigid with the motion and he paused, looking to her. 'Do you trust me?'

A moment and she nodded, though not without worry as she looked back at him and he felt her arm loosen. Curling his hand over the top of hers, he balled it into a fist, presenting it to the dog, feeling the slight tremor in her back as the animal sniffed at her.

Within moments, Barkspawn had made up his mind, licking briefly at her hand before staring up at her with his large brown eyes, tongue lolling from his mouth.

'Oh...oh so you like me?' she asked and he laughed at her surprise, delighted when she stroked tentatively at the hound's head. He barked sharply, stumpy tail wagging furiously before he returned to his master's side, as if to report his approval.

Elizabeth smiled as the dog sat by her side once more. It wasn't a kind or pleasant smile, as such, more as though she was well satisfied with something and she turned her attention back to Artemis.

'Well, inquisitor, I suppose that settles it.'

'What settles what?' Artemis asked, perplexed.

'Believe it or not, if you're good enough for my dog, you're good enough for me.'

'..I...excuse me....I...?' Artemis stammered, confused by the sudden approval, unable to comprehend that the dog had held so much sway.

'Now, shall we ride? I've been cooped up in rooms, delightful as they are, for far too long.'

The queen turned away, disappearing into the stables to fetch her horse without another word, leaving a confused Artemis in her wake. Alistair lingered in the yard, looking back to the flummoxed inquisitor, shrugging lightly and smiling before following his wife.

Cullen smirked as Artemis looked up to him, seeking an explanation.

'Was that...serious? She can't base her opinion of me on a dog.'

He shrugged just as Alistair had.

'Fereldan through and through, I suppose.'

'But...'

'I wouldn't overthink it, Artemis. Let's just get some air and see what happens.'

'Yes, you're right.'

He smiled gently at her, placing a soft kiss on her cheek before taking her hand and leading her into the stables. Elizabeth was stood in the center of the large wooden building, smiling to herself as she looked around the variety of creatures that were housed there.

'You have quite the remarkable collection here, inquisitor.'

'Thank you, your Majesty. We were lucky enough to find breeders who were happy to supply us with mounts. We never thought we would get anything as exotic as a dracolisk or a battlenug though.'

The queen's ears seemed to prick up at that.

'A battlenug?'

'Um, yes, just at the end there, if you'd like to see them.'

Cullen watched as she pointed the queen down to the end of the stables where the largest creatures were kept, sidling up to Alistair as he watched them.

'They seem to be getting on well.' Alistair commented, his shoulders more relaxed then they had been in days.

'Yes. I'm surprised by how much so.'

The king smiled lightly.

'I think Elizabeth is starting to realise that Artemis isn't a threat.'

'She thought she was a threat?'

'Not Artemis personally but, the inquisition, yes. And since Artemis is the leader...'

'She is the embodiment of the inquisition. And potentially a threat to her and Ferelden.' He finished, looking over to his own friend.

There was an oddly calm expression on his face, something gentle and content. So much of a contrast to Alistair's usually zealous reactions to anything and everything that it threw him. But he supposed this was what the man should have been like all along, if he hadn't had years of emotional neglect as a child, if he hadn't learned that he needed to shout and scream to get the attention he needed. This was what the man could have been all the time, if he'd had parents.

And then he turned his attention back to him, his beaming smile on him in full force and Cullen mused that whatever hardships Alistair had been through that had turned him into what he was today, it might just have been worth it to create a man who could smile so brightly and so easily.

He flushed, turning away, pulling his attention back to the two women.

'We should probably still supervise though.' Alistair suggested, his smile turning to something coyer and Cullen nodded absentmindedly before heading down to the other end of the stables.

'I can only assume that the reason a battlenug is wearing a pink bow must have something to do with your esteemed former Spymaster?' Elizabeth was commenting, looking at one of the huge animals with a perplexed air. Indeed there was a tiny pink bow fastened around the beast's thick neck, barely visible among folds of skin.

'You assume correctly,' Cullen commented as he came to stand by Artemis's side, 'I can't fathom why she thought it needed one though.'

'Probably because Leiliana is obsessed with all nugs.' Alistair commented, his arms sliding around his wife's lithe waist as he spoke. The woman leant back into the embrace, apparently unconcerned about their audience.

'They're hardly comparable.'

'Tell princess stabbity that.'

Cullen lifted an eyebrow at the questionable nickname his king had bestowed upon their now ‘Most Holy’. If anyone within the Chantry heard him refer to her in such a way, it could easily cause a problem for him. Then again, Alistair hardly seemed to care about what anyone thought of such things, and he supposed the relationship between them was close enough to allow such comments...unofficially, anyway.

Artemis too looked somewhat troubled by the man's odd comment and immediately switched the conversation back to something more appropriate. It was a pity her choice in words wasn't as carefully thought out.

'That aside...what is your preferred mount, Queen Elizabeth?'

The taller woman's slender eyebrows lifted in surprise before a devilish smirk crossed her lips.

'You mean, other than Alistair?'

The man holding her flushed red immediately at the comment, and he buried his face into her shoulder, though the ever so slightly pointed tips of his ears still flared with the colour. His shoulders shook though, an indication he was amused, if utterly embarrassed at his wife's lewd suggestion.

And once again, Artemis seemed unable to comprehend the sudden flirtation, her mouth open, her face just as flushed as Alistair's and even he felt the need to reach up and grip the nape of his neck uncomfortably. The woman was borderline outrageous when she was at ease, apparently, and when no response was forthcoming she rolled her eyes and shook her head, still smiling, as though at her own private joke.

'Chantry boys. Chantry boys everywhere.' She sighed, before turning back to address Artemis once more. 'As lovely as your animals are, I confess to adoring my own steed. I'll ride on her, if it's all the same to you. She hates to be in stables for too long.'

'As you wish, your majesty. I assume that you prefer to saddle her up yourself?'

'You assume correctly.' Elizabeth smiled and moved away to tend to the aforementioned task. Alistair loitered, the blush only just fading from his ears.

'Uh...sorry about that. I love Elizabeth when she gets flirty...but if you're not used to it, it can seem a bit...'

'Brazen?'

'Yes...although I suppose someone has to be. Anyway I should uh...tack up, as they say. We'll meet you in the courtyard?'

'That'd be best. Ours are already waiting.'

Alistair nodded, moving away once again to tend to his horse and Cullen took Artemis's hand in his once more, relishing the feeling of her small, soft hand in his as he led her to where their mounts were waiting.

'That was...a little odd.' She commented at length and he nodded lightly in agreement.

'It does seem somewhat strange but...perhaps this is what she is really like, when she's not being queen.'

'Yes. I suppose.'

'You seem a little daunted by that.'

'It's...unexpected. She's been so...stoic, most of the time I've spoken to her. It feels strange to think that she's so...open about such things.'

'I suspect with Alistair being as bashful as he was back in the day, maybe she needed to be to get anywhere with him. At any rate, I don't think she's intending to make us uncomfortable. Maybe she's just being well...what she finds comfortable?'

'Well, she's certainly comfortable in her own skin, I'll give her that much.' There was a touch of irritation in Artemis's voice as she spoke and he lifted an eyebrow again.

'My love?'

'She's just so confident...and so beautiful. How do you compare to that?'

'Why are you trying to? You have nothing to prove. And you are beautiful,' he pulled her against him lightly, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, 'that she is as well doesn't take that away from you and besides,' he smirked, letting his voice drop lower 'you're far more womanly. I'd take these curves over her legs any day.'

'Cullen...even I wouldn't take my curves over those legs and I'm fairly proud of them.'

'As well you should be. I...' he was about to continue when the sharp clack of hooves hitting the stone ground of the courtyard distracted him, announcing the return of their guests and he dropped a kiss to Artemis's cheek, a lingering look that told her that he wasn't done with this subject yet, before nodding in greeting.

Turning away, he found his own horse nearby, climbing onto the creatures back easily, before turning to watch Artemis.

She had never been a natural rider, and it showed now as she struggled to mount the animal before her, trying unsuccessfully to haul herself onto its back. The gelding was just as unhappy about it as she was, shying from her slightly, making the task even more difficult.

He wasn't sure what was the best course of action here. To let her struggle and achieve on her own in front of Elizabeth who was clearly a seasoned and confident rider, or to step in and stop her embarrassment by aiding her.

A glance to Elizabeth told him that she was having much the same dilemma. He had expected her to be amused by the display of Artemis's difficulties, a sign of inferiority to someone like her perhaps, but the expression on her face mirrored what must be on his own. Concerned, perturbed perhaps, and after a moment she seemed to make up her mind, sliding off her own horse easily and crossing to the other woman.

He watched quietly, noting the way Artemis's shoulders stiffened at the woman's approach, clearly wary of what her reaction would be.

'If I may...Artemis...' she spoke her name hesitantly, unsure of whether they were on such terms yet. After a moment, Artemis nodded, and the queen reached out to the gelding, gripping his reins quickly. A hand on his neck soothed the animal and within a few moments he was standing quietly once more.

'Now...you need to take the reins up more, hold them a little more tightly so he doesn't learn that he can wander off.'

Artemis glanced at her, expression conflicted for a moment before she did as she was instructed, landing in the saddle with relative ease a moment later. She seemed surprised when she found herself sat atop the animal suddenly, her mount snorting lightly at her presence and Elizabeth patted the chestnut's neck.

'He's not so bad. He just needs a firm hand.'

Artemis frowned.

'Great. Dennet said this one was well behaved.'

Elizabeth smiled lightly.

'I suspect that to a man who spends his life surround by horses, anything that doesn't constantly rear at you counts as well behaved.'

There was a soft laugh from Artemis.

'That's probably true.'

'Anyway. If you're happy inquisitor, we should leave before too much of the day has passed.'

'Yes...let's.'

There was hesitation in her voice and Cullen smiled reassuringly at her as the horse pawed restlessly at the ground. Elizabeth swung up into her saddle, unconcerned about the way her skirt flared at the movement and unhindered by its length about her legs, before turning back to look at them both.

'You'll both be more familiar with the territory. Any suggestions of where's good to ride?'

Artemis shook her head quickly and he stepped forwards, ready to take up where she couldn't help.

'There's a pleasant enough route around the lake below. Or a few mountain paths, depending on how hard a ride you're looking for but...if I might suggest...' he glanced over to Artemis, watching as she fiddled with her reins and Elizabeth caught the hint easily enough.

'The lake route sounds very pleasant. Are you happy to lead, commander?'

'Always, your majesty.'

A glance to Artemis and Alistair to confirm that their less proficient riders were comfortable and he spurred his horse into any easy walk.

Outside the confines of Skyhold's walls the wind blew sharper and colder, and he took a welcome breath of the air. His duties so often confined him to the dusty environment of his office that some days he barely got to see daylight. To have the opportunity to bask in the sun's warm rays was a much needed change.

Despite the change of scene, worry gnawed at him as he considered their situation and he pulled his horse wide, allowing his companions to ride alongside him. It gave him the opportunity to really gauge how well Artemis and Elizabeth were getting along and he was encouraged to see that, though the two weren't speaking much, they both seemed relaxed. Well, as relaxed as Artemis could be whilst riding anyway.

Elizabeth was leaning over occasionally, offering a pointer here and there to aid with her riding, and he was impressed with not only how well she rode, but how well she taught. The commander in her was obvious, naturally authoritative, though her upbringing and politics seemed to have taught her to adapt to who she was dealing, rather than suggest everyone conform to her own views. He had seen the latter before, and it rarely got the best out of someone.

Content that they were getting along for now he dropped back a little, letting the women take the lead. Trailing behind would give him a better chance to watch how they were interacting, without it being too obvious, he hoped.

His plan to watch them was scuppered, however, when Alistair caught his movement and followed suit, bringing his stallion to walk alongside Cullen's mount and he frowned slightly.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Alistair's company, far from it, in fact, but after the odd few moments of flirtation that seemed to be becoming more regular, he wondered that it might lead somewhere rather less innocuous.

'So...' the king began conversationally, his voice dropping low in the way that it did when he was feeling particularly playful and it spoke volumes of his light hearted mood.

'So?' he asked, wondering just where the man was trying to go with the conversation.

'...Artemis isn't a natural rider, then?'

The question was strange, far too safe a topic compared to what they usually discussed and particularly so given the nature of their last few meetings. It left him feeling uncomfortably suspicious of the other man's motives.

'Not really. She was sent to the circle when she was young and never really got the chance to learn. We had to teach her from scratch when we started getting mounts in from Dennet.'

'Ah...and I suppose there wasn't much time to do that, what with Corypheus and all.'

'No. We got to a point where, as long as she could stay on the damn animal's back, we considered it a success. She seems to be doing well under Elizabeth's instruction though.'

The other man smiled warmly at that, looking over at the two women.

'She does. But then, if anyone can teach someone to ride, it's 'Lis. I could barely get near a horse when they announced I was going to be king. She had to teach me in time for my coronation, so that I could ride through Denerim without making an utter fool of myself.'

'Did it work?'

'Have you noticed that I've been on Cadfael here for a full thirty minutes without him throwing me off or trying to bite me? Call me easily impressed, but I call that a success.'

'...You're very easily impressed.'

A soft chuckle rocked Alistair's shoulders in response.

'Well...that's true enough I suppose but still,' he shook his head, looking back to the ladies '...that seems to be going better, don't you think?'

'Indeed. They seem much more at ease with each other. Not to jump to conclusions too fast but...I'm beginning to hope this could have a positive ending. Artemis wanted so much for this to go well and become friends with Elizabeth.'

'And no ruined friendship for us either. Can't think of a better outcome than that.' He smiled brightly before his eyes narrowed, some thought clearly flickering through his mind, twisting his smile into something infinitely more devious.

'That is not a reassuring expression, Alistair. What in Thedas are you concocting now?'

The smile faltered.

'Oh...ah, you know, it's nothing. Just a stupid idea on my part.'

He shouldn't encourage him. He knew he shouldn't and at the same time, he knew he was going to and so he sighs lightly before prompting his friend;

'What is it?'

'Weeelllll...' Alistair drawls and the smile returns in full force, the devious quirk of his lips present once more '...If our ladies are getting along better, I thought it might be an idea to maybe have dinner together. You know, something a little more...intimate. Nice food, a couple of bottles of good wine and...good company...maybe...'

'But we just had lunch. What's the difference?'

His astute observation has Alistair stumped for a moment, apparently, because the redhead pauses to send him a look that suggests both bewilderment and frustration. An eyebrow quirks upwards a moment later.

'...I...are you...really? I am not a subtle man, Cullen.'

'You want to do dinner, yes, I understand that.'

'Yes. I want to do dinner. With connotations.' He states, as bluntly as he possibly could, a sudden splash of colour on his cheeks.

The choice of words and the colour spreading across his king's face confuses him for a moment before realisation sinks in.

'Oh...'

Connotations. Good company. Fine wine. Those connotations.

'Oh...' he repeats eloquently, his mind slow to catch up with his mouth, knowing that he needs to say something to the man who's looking at him expectantly, nervously. He pulls his horse to a halt, aware of Alistair stopping with him, the man's face now twisting with worry.

What did one say to such a suggestion? How did he even feel about such a thing?

The rational part of his mind, the small chantry boy that still lived somewhere deep down inside balked at the idea. Such...activities had been considered perverse under the chantry's teachings. A joining of more than one man and one woman was obscene, lecherous and degrading to all parties. The type of activity that only prostitutes would engage in.

And yet even as he opened his mouth to reject the idea, something about it snagged on some depraved thorn in his mind that the chantry's teachings had failed to remove. It proved difficult to ignore; flashes of dimly lit rooms playing in front of his eyes, of skin against skin and desperate hands gripping at heated flesh.

His mouth snapped shut, his hand rising to the back of his neck to rub once more, wondering idly if he had managed to scour some sort of trench into the skin there with the frequency of his discomfort recently.

Could he seriously consider it? Should he?

Silence, though, seemed to be all the answer that Alistair needed as he turned his head away, his mouth curved into an angry frown.

'Ah...sorry. Just...ignore that, could you? I didn't mean anything by it really. You know me, perverted bastard and all. Maybe that's the thing? Maybe all bastards are just naturally perverted because we were born outside of wedlock and we don't know any better? I know the chantry tried to teach it out of you and I guess it must have been fairly successful because I said no the first time it was suggested but...maybe it grew back? Is that possible? And you know they say you 'lose' your virginity, do you reckon you can find it again? I mean, not that I want to or am even in that position, but if you lose something you must be able to find it again, given enough time, right?'

'I...' Cullen frowned, utterly bemused now '...what?'

'Good. Confusion is good. Now, just hang onto that feeling and forget the last five minutes ever happened and we can get back to normal, right? Right.'

His Majesty is already turning his steed away when Cullen finally manages to regain his senses. At least, enough to call the man to a halt, urging his own mount forward to catch up with him.

There's hesitation on the other man's face as he pulls up beside him, worry apparent as he approaches, and he laughs nervously.

'So...' Cullen hesitates himself, before nudging his horse again, gesturing for his former lover to fall in besides him '...Am I understanding this correctly? You're suggesting that we...spend the night together? All four of us?'

'...I suppose I am, if you put it like that.'

'...I is...is this your idea?'

'Sort of.'

'Sort of?'

'Well...there's a sort of mutual agreement between me and 'Lis when it comes to you two.'

'Oh?' he lifted an eyebrow curiously.

'Ah...we uh...we both agree we'd like to... well...spend the night with you both, as you said.'

'I assume you mean yourself and Artemis and myself and Elizabeth?'

'Ah...well yes and...any other combinations that could occur.'

His eyebrows lifted further at that, surprise running through him at the concept that the queen would be interested in another woman in such a way. But...he supposed that made her flirtatious comments make much more sense.

'I...see. I hadn't considered that Elizabeth would have such...tastes.'

'Yes, well, me neither until recently. But then I keep thinking back to Isabela and it all makes much more sense and, she's not exactly averse to the idea of me and you getting ah...reacquainted.'

'Yes, you mentioned previously that she was interested in that.'

There was a pause as Alistair visibly worked up the nerve to ask his next question;

'Would you...be averse to that?'

'To which part, exactly?'

'Any of it.'

He had to pause in thought, almost chuckling to himself at the sheer absurdity of it. Would he like to sleep with his queen? Would he like to watch his lover with another man? Or another woman? Would he like to watch another couple in their passions? Would he like to rekindle that side of his relationship with Alistair? And if he did...would there be repercussions?

His sense of propriety flared again at the idea, his sensible, rational nature insistent that this was all a very bad idea and that he shouldn't even be humouring Alistair by letting him pitch the idea.

But then he considered each question individually.

Elizabeth was a stunning woman, and he couldn't deny that there was an attraction on both their parts. And the idea of sharing Artemis with Alistair or Elizabeth pulled at him in an odd way, equal parts possessiveness and curiosity that was strangely appealing. As for getting close to Alistair once again...he wasn't sure it was a good idea, but he couldn't help but long for it anyway, to feel him with him once more, familiar and different at the same time.

'...No,' he breathed after a few minutes silence, looking up to the other man, watching as confusion flickered across his face and he drew a breath again before clarifying; '...I wouldn't be averse to it. Or...at least, I don't think I would be, I couldn't be sure until we were actually...'

He trailed off and for once Alistair kept his mouth shut, only nodding in understanding at his hesitations.

'But...I'm not sure how Artemis would feel about it. She's somewhat...shy, when it comes to these things.'

The king laughed lightly.

'I daresay we probably should be but...well, Lis and I've been together a long time now and I think we're bad influences on each other. And on you, apparently,' he smiled lightly before adopting a more serious expression '...but, it's just a silly idea, you know. If you decide it's too much or...not for you, we won't be offended.'

'I'll...mention it and...see how she feels.'

'Ooh, maybe we could have a code? Like, if she says yes you send us, I don't know the key to your chambers or something, or if it's a maybe send a handkerchief and if it's a definite no...'

'Or a note.'

'Or...yeah, a note.'

There was nervousness bubbling in his stomach now, questions colliding in his mind, emotions conflicting. Was this the right thing to do? Would Artemis say yes, would she judge him for it or would it damage their relationship? Was it just outright perverted and immoral? And if all went well and she, by some miracle said yes, would it go well? Would they be able to bring themselves to go through with it?

He rubbed at his neck once more as he rode, contemplating the questions in his mind, repeating over and over as he analyzed every detail he could think of about Artemis and how she would respond. And then the Alistair's quiet reassurance came once more, breaking through his thoughts.

'It's only about having a good time, Cullen. There's no pressure either way, we don't want things to become uncomfortable.'

He nodded absentmindedly.

'I'll...let you know, as I said.'

The former warden seemed content with that, straightening up as he rode, turning his gaze back to the ladies ahead of them. They were some way away now, apparently having ridden at a faster pace than they had been and Cullen frowned.

'We should probably catch up with them, they might become suspicious...or worse.'

'You mean, if we're lucky, they haven't managed to offend each other again.'

'Exactly.'

'Well then...race you? Last one to reach our lovely ladies has to schmooze with an Orlesian.'

Without another word the king put his heels to his horse, urging the beast into an impressive gallop in just a few moments.

'Bastard.' Cullen muttered before following suit, pressing himself down against the animal's back and giving it all the encouragement he could, impressed when the mare managed a sprightly burst of speed.

Alistair may have had a superiorly bred and conditioned animal, but he was by far a superior rider and he smirked to himself as he maneuvered his mare onto a sharper line, coming up on the near side of the stallion.

Amber eyes widened briefly as the king glanced over his left shoulder, finding the commander gaining on him quickly and he grinned, enjoying the promise of a challenge before pushing his stallion further, letting the horse reach its full stride, pulling away again with little effort on the beast's part.

Cullen shook his head. Better horseman though he was, there was little that could compete with the animal's raw ability, his mare beginning to flag. It was just as well, he thought. They were almost upon the women now and they turned in the saddle at the thunderous hoofbeats behind them both looking surprised and amused as Alistair came blazing past.

Still, he wasn't about to let himself be shown up to quite such an extent and he pushed his mare into giving the last bit of gallop she had left it her, closing the gap as much as possible, despite having already lost.

Alistair was already laughing gleefully as he slowed Cadfael and wheeled the horse about, briefly dropping the reins to proclaim his victory.

It was short lived.

After such a flurry of movement Alistair's horse was somewhat overexcited. Combined with the sudden loss of pressure on the reins and the unpredictable motion of his rider, the horse reared without warning, drawing itself to its impressive height and throwing Alistair from his back before prancing off, riderless, to the nearby water.

They moved in unison, the three of them dismounting and hurrying to the man lying prone on the ground.

Elizabeth reached him first, worry etched into every line of her face, blue eyes wide with fear for him as she knelt beside him, her hands moving to his chest and face, checking for consciousness.

Cullen joined her a second later, Artemis at his side, kneeling next to the man, opposite the queen, even as Alistair groaned and cracked his eyes open.

'Ow.'

It was the only comment he made before trying to push himself up, being stopped by gently restraining hands a moment later.

'Easy Alistair, don't move too fast.' Elizabeth was warning, an arm curling around his shoulders to support and ease him into a sitting position. 'It sounded like you hit your head hard.'

The king winced, smiling weakly.

'Well...it wasn't like there was much in there to begin with. Daresay I won't grieve for the loss.'

Artemis laughed softly, covering her nervousness, shuffling around to his back to inspect the wound as Cullen laid a supportive hand onto Alistair's free shoulder, taking some of his weight.

'At least your sense of humour isn't broken.' She joked, before setting to searching the back of his head, fingers combing through soft red locks, frowning as she did;

'There's a lot of blood here,' she glanced up to Elizabeth, mouth set into a grim line as she regarded the older woman 'I know head wounds bleed a lot anyway, but I think we should get him back to the castle and checked over just in case.'

Alistair snorted.

'It's not that bad. I'm fine, really, it doesn't even...' Fingers pressed gently to the laceration on his scalp and he hissed sharply '...hurt. Ok, I admit, it hurts. Just a little. But I don't think...'

'Alistair,' Elizabeth warned, her voice pitched low, 'I know you’ve had worse, but I agree with Artemis. Head wounds shouldn't be ignored, no matter how you feel. We're going back.'

'Cullen,' Artemis turned to him and he nodded at her brisk tone, knowing that the inquisitor was back in charge now, 'Ride back to Skyhold and have a healer ready in the king's suite. I want guards out here as quickly as possible too.'

'By your order, inquisitor.' He nodded.

‘Honestly, I’m fine.’ Alistair protested, trying to sit up again, only to receive an annoyed glare from Elizabeth. ‘We don’t need guards.’

‘I imagine you’re probably right, Alistair. I’m sure the inquisitor and I are capable of defending you if anything should happen, but I’d rather have them here anyway. And besides, I don’t think we can manage your weight all the way back to Skyhold.’ She joked lightly, patting him on his armoured stomach, her smile widening when he frowned.

‘I could ride…’ he suggested weakly.

'I don't think it's wise for him to ride with a head injury.' Artemis advised, looking to Elizabeth and the woman nodded in agreement. 'We'll walk him as far as we can. We can have a pallet brought out if necessary.'

'I think that's probably best.' Elizabeth hummed, worry still evident on her face. Between the two of them they managed to wedge their arms beneath his shoulders, easing the large man to his feet, supporting him when he wavered slightly.

Satisfied that they would manage with the now surprisingly compliant king, Cullen grasped at Artemis's mount's reins, swinging himself up onto the gelding’s back and spurring the horse into the fastest pace he could manage, as quickly as he dared.

There really wasn't anything like a potential concussion to end a pleasant lakeside ride and a bizarre proposal for how to spend their evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to anyone who read, kudos'd, commented and subscribed so far. Always greatly appreciated :)


	11. Breaking down the walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down the rabbit hole they go...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who's gotten this far, the chapters you've been waiting for are imminent.
> 
> Also thanks to everyone who has commented and left kudos, I'm over the moon at being at 150+, it means the world that there are people enjoying this. 
> 
> Anyhoo...
> 
> Enjoy!

‘I must admit, inquisitor, there is something that puzzles me about you.’

The statement comes out of the blue, a sudden break in the quiet whisper of wind about them. High up in the Frostback mountains, there’s little to make noise, save for nature’s elements and Queen Elizabeth’s voice seems oddly out of place.

‘Just the one thing, ma’am?’ She asks quietly, a hint of humour on the tip of her tongue and she wonders for a moment if it’s too friendly. Or perhaps too shy? She’s caught now, unsure of where she and the older woman stand after their recent conversations that somehow seemed to have leapt from a forced and formal truce, to polite chatter to Elizabeth’s strange, brazen flirtations.

As if something had been triggered by some event she couldn’t guess at, the monarch riding beside her seemed suddenly so much more friendly and approachable. Such a strange turn in her behavior that Artemis half wondered if it was some sort of trick to get her to soften towards her, only to be taken advantage of later.

But…that was paranoid. Wasn’t it? 

That was what the queen had thought she herself was doing and she’d been offended at the concept. She wondered if she should give her the benefit of the doubt, though some deep seated instinct kept her quietly on edge. Or perhaps, that was just being on horseback.

‘Just the one…for now, anyway,’ Elizabeth was continuing, ‘I was wondering…you come from a family that’s well situated, as I understand it.’

A statement, not a question, but she nods anyway, confirming.

‘How is it that a young lady born into a noble family doesn’t know how to ride?’ The woman asks, cocking her head curiously, just the way her husband did. ‘I ask only out of curiosity, you understand.’

Artemis glances to the horse beneath her, oddly quiet now and she has to admit, it’s probably the calmest ride she’s ever had.

‘I was sent to the Ostwick circle when I was six,’ she explains, watching understanding cross the queen’s face at her explanation, ‘so my family never really had time to teach me.’

‘I see…I expect that was a quite an unpleasant transition to make, for such a young child?’ The question is oddly personal, though asked in a thoroughly impersonal way and for a moment it makes her suspicious, until she meets Elizabeth’s gaze again. There’s nothing but curiosity and a quiet sense of sympathy and she eventually nods in response again.

‘At the time…yes. I didn’t really understand why I was being sent away…it felt like a punishment for something I hadn’t done. My aunt was already there, so…it could have been worse. And I got regular letters and visits from my family…but, it still felt lonely. I suppose I can’t complain though… there are a lot of mages that would have given anything for loneliness to be the worst thing they faced.’

‘True. Although I don’t feel that the fact others have it worse necessarily makes the situation any better. Everything is subjective after all…Do you see your family more often now?’

‘No, since the Inquisiton was reestablished, everything’s been rather chaotic. It’s quietened down since Corypheus’s death but…there’s always someone asking for something.’

The queen laughs at that, a light, easy noise that suggests her own understanding of that particular issue.

‘There is, isn’t there?’

‘It’s given me more time to write to them though. Cullen too. I hope that we’ll get to visit his siblings eventually.’

‘That sounds like a good idea. It reminds me that I should visit my brother too. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him.’

‘Your brother is the Teyrn of Highever, isn’t he?’

Elizaebeth nods, checking her horse briefly as she does.

‘He is. And he’s remarried recently. I missed the wedding, I was still away at the time and since getting back to Denerim…there really hasn’t been much chance.’ Her brow pinches as she speaks, clearly troubled by the thought.

‘Remarried?’ Artemis asks carefully, and the way Elizabeth’s head turns away, a pretense of admiring the distant mountain ranges, lets her know it wasn’t carefully enough.

‘Yes,’ her voice is distant as she replies, ‘his previous wife, Oriana, died when Rendon Howe betrayed my mother and father, just before the blight.’ 

She pauses, swallowing heavily.

‘He lost his son, Oren, that night too…’

Her head is still turned away as she answers and Artemis curses herself quietly, guilt churning her gut at bringing up painful memories. She couldn’t begin to imagine how it would feel to see her nephew and sister-in-law dead, or leave her parents to die. The tale of the Hero of Ferelden was well known across most of Thedas, though the beginnings of that journey were less detailed, particularly the events that occurred before Ostagar. But in her time at the circle, Artemis had learned as much as she could about the woman in question. Enough to know when she was approaching dangerous territory.

‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I shouldn’t have brought it up.’

There’s a pause from the Queen, a sudden heave to her chest before she turns her head back to meet her gaze. The faintest wetness shimmers across dark blue eyes before she blinks it back, taking another steadying breath.

‘It’s…fine. It was over ten years ago and I got the revenge I sought at the time. I shouldn’t let it trouble me so.’

‘If I may…’ Artemis replies gently and Elizabeth lifts an immaculate eyebrow before nodding, ‘…I don’t believe anyone gets over that sort of event. And, I don’t think anyone should either or at least, not completely. We all need to carry on with our lives but…we can’t forget the people who shaped our lives either.’

‘You may be right, but…’ she sighs again, ‘I try to focus on Alistair instead. I may have lost my parents but he never had any to begin with. And I wouldn’t be here, if it wasn’t for him. I’d have been loathe to admit it at the time but he helped me face my grief as much as my insecurities.’

‘Insecurities?’

There’s a light laugh on Elizabeth’s part again.

‘Yes. I didn’t realise that’s what they were at the time. After the massacre at Ostagar I thought I was unstoppable. Strong and capable of leadership, especially with Alistair being affected by Duncan’s death, as he was.’

‘But you were…otherwise Ferelden wouldn’t be here anymore.’

‘To an extent, perhaps. But believe me, I faltered more than once. There were a few moments, particularly when Sten was involved that I had never felt less capable of anything.’

‘Sten? That’s the Qunari who travelled with you isn’t it?’

‘You seem very knowledgeable about this.’ Elizabeth comments, an eyebrow raised curiously and she flushes lightly under the gaze.

‘I…read a lot in the circle. I was about fifteen when the blight happened and when the stories started to come out about what had happened…I was…very interested. Especially when they said that it was a woman who was the hero. I started to think that…well…that she must be amazing to have done so much and I wished that one day, I could do something as great as she did…’

There was hot colour on her cheeks as she spoke, feeling like a child once more as the queen looked at her, surprise written over sharp features. She had admired her for so long and after everything that had happened, it felt both a relief and a shame to admit it.

‘I…see,’ Elizabeth murmured, ‘I…well…thank you, Artemis. I didn’t think…’ she paused and took a breath, ‘I have been terribly churlish in my time here and I’m sorry that I haven’t lived up to your expectations in the flesh, as it were. And…you have more than surpassed what I have achieved in my time. I don’t care to admit it but…I suppose when I arrived here, I was looking for trouble, as petty as that is…it was hard to meet someone who had achieved so much but I should have only been grateful that you have done it.’

‘Thank you, your Majesty.’

‘Please, my friends call me ‘Lis.’

Surprise flourishes in her chest at the invitation of informality, before a wave of relief and pride sweep it away.

‘Thank you. ‘Lis.’ The name feels awkward on her tongue, not yet comfortable, and she knows it will take some getting used to before she gets there, but contentment follows nevertheless that they have managed to reach this point.

‘We should probably be thanking the boys though…I don’t think either of us would have been willing to try to get along if not for them.’ She suggests and Elizabeth nods once more.

‘Ever the heroes in the background, are our gentlemen.’

Artemis laughs at that, knowing that it was entirely true.

‘I don’t think we should tell them that though,’ she advises, ‘I’m sure it’ll go right to their heads.’

‘No doubt,’ Elizabeth smiles softly ‘…I suspect…’

The queen’s words are cut off suddenly by the thunder of approaching hoofbeats and she frowns turning in her saddle to look behind her. Artemis follows suit, though far less confidently, turning just enough to see the King of Ferelden and the Commander of the Inquisition engaged in an impromptu race. 

Alistair clearly had the lead, his animal far superior compared to Cullen’s good natured mare and she shakes her head at the macho display as the king tears past them, throwing his arms into the air and whooping with victory. His celebrations are short lived, however, and she watches in horror as the black stallion rears, throwing him off to lie in a disheveled heap on the floor.

She’s scrambling off her horse in a heartbeat, aware of Elizabeth doing the same and they’re at his side in a second, checking the man for injuries, finding a worrying amount of blood on the back of his skull despite his protestations that he’s fine.

Minutes pass in a whirlwind as she orders Cullen back to the castle, plans of action forming already, racing to the complications that could occur if anything should happen to his Majesty’s health. They’re helping him upright before long, his weight heavy on her and Elizabeth’s shoulders as Cullen races away to fetch help. 

\--

It’s late in the evening when the healer calls up to the inquisitor’s chambers, delivering the news that their guest is completely fine, save for some mild dazing and a few stitches in his scalp.

Artemis can’t help but notice how Cullen’s shoulders droop with relief at the news, relaxation washing over his tense form as he settles down beside her on the sofa, amusement playing over his lips.

‘Something funny?’ she asks lightly, intrigued by his sudden change in demeanour now that the king’s wellbeing is assured.

‘It’s just so…him,’ he murmurs, stretching out and pulling her into his arms, leaving them tangled together on the chaise longue. ‘…he always did this exact sort of thing when we were recruits. I lost track of all the times I had to patch him up and carry him back to the chantry.’

‘Carry him? Really?’

‘He managed to break his leg once, falling out of a tree.’

‘Well…to be fair, that’s exactly the sort of thing I expect a young boy to do.’

‘He was seventeen.’

‘And you carried him back?’

He nods, pressing his face into her neck.

‘He was…gangly at that point. Didn’t fill out until a few years later, so he didn’t weigh much, really. He complained like a child though.’

‘I’m guessing some things never change.’

He laughs gently, the breadth of his torso rocking gently with the motion, his breath warm against her ear.

‘Nor would I ask them to, in this particular case.’

‘Really? The commander of the inquisition doesn’t find his king’s childishness at all irritating?’

‘Oh, I never said that. But it does make him him, and I suspect that if he grew up too much, he would lose the parts of him that I’m fond of.’

‘Do you think Elizabeth feels the same?’

‘I imagine so. Why?’

‘They seem an odd couple sometimes,’ she mused, settling comfortably into the warmth of his arms, ‘she presents herself as being so stern but Alistair doesn’t bother with any of that sort of thing…He doesn’t pretend he’s someone he’s not.’

‘Doesn’t he?’

The question makes her pause, turning her head to look at her lover over her shoulder, meeting golden eyes.

‘What do you mean?’

‘As I see it…Alistair puts on as much a mask as Elizabeth does…only a different sort. He plays the fool and, sometimes, he is. But not nearly as much as people think.’

‘You think he pretends to be dull so that people underestimate him?’

He nods and she hums to herself, turning that thought over. It made sense. She had heard many things about Alistair before she had met him, and having spent so much more time in the Orlesian court than Ferelden’s, most weren’t complimentary. The Orlesians clearly thought Ferelden’s king to be slow witted and unrefined, but her own experience with him had been quite the opposite…well…except for the refinement, perhaps.

‘You and the queen seemed to be getting along well today.’

The statement, quietly spoken into her shoulder, catches her off guard for a moment, pulling her from her thoughts and she nods absentmindedly.

‘Yes…she was pleasant today and I think we cleared the air a bit. Although…I’m not sure what to make of all that flirting.’

There’s a moments silence from her partner, a subtle shift in posture behind her, before he replies.

‘Maybe she likes you.’ It’s entirely out of character for him, the words cautiously spoken, clearly angling at something and she turns to look at him again, frowning in bemusement at him.

‘I doubt she’s that way inclined.’

‘I think you’d be surprised.’ He answers quickly and his arms loosen from their firm embrace around her.

‘Cullen, really. What in Thedas could make you believe such a ridiculous notion?’

He pauses, his hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck before he catches it, dropping his hand once more, pulling himself away from her to pace to the nearby table. There’s an assortment of bottles on it, including wines of various types and vintages, but he reaches past them, straight for the bottle of Anderfell Whisky that only he drinks, and then only when he’s feeling particularly taxed.

‘Cullen?’ she asks, confused by the sudden change in his behavior, his unease seeping into her own self as she watches him pour himself a generous glass and downing it quickly. He cringes at the burn it creates in his throat.

‘Cullen?’ She tries again, and this time he looks up at her, his cheeks flushed. She can’t be sure if it’s from the whisky or whatever’s on his mind.

‘Alistair,’ he answers at length, before pouring himself another drink, ‘Alistair said…when we were riding he…’ the blush across his cheeks is getting darker by the second, spreading further and he’s unable to resist the urge to grip the nape of his neck once more.

His head drops back, eyes staring at the ceiling before he drops his arm and shakes his head, golden curls bouncing lightly with the motion.

‘I can’t believe he managed to talk me into this. Andraste preserve me, but you’ll think I’m some sort of…degenerate.’

‘Cullen,’ she soothes, his name soft on her lips, enough to make him look up at her, eyes dark with worry, ‘I doubt there’s anything you could do to make me think that. You told me about you and Alistair, and I didn’t think worse of you for that, did I?’

‘I…I suppose not. But this…’

‘If it’s causing you so much grief,’ she starts, standing from the sofa to move towards him, taking his hands in her own, noting how his palms are damp with sweat, ‘…perhaps it’s not worth bringing up for now. Alistair will cope, I’m sure.’

He nods vaguely in agreement before shaking his head again, golden eyes unsure as they meet hers.

‘…but I want to. He’s put this idea in my head, they both have, and I can’t get rid of it and worse still, I don’t want to.’

Worry courses through her as she looks at him, conflicted, before she slides her arms around his waist, bringing him close again. 

‘Tell me.’ She urges quietly, laying her head on his chest, listening to the frantic drumming of his heart.

‘Alistair had a…proposition for us,’ he begins, his voice a little steadier as she holds him, soothing his nerves ‘and I would take him up on it but…I worry what you’ll think of me for it.’

She looks up at him again now.

‘Cullen, I know you. You’re a good man. Whatever it is, it can’t possibly be as bad as you seem to think it is. And if it’s something you want, there’s a good chance I’ll want it too.’

There’s indecision written over his face as he looks down at her before his eyes harden, decision made.

‘Alistair and Elizabeth have expressed an interest in…uh, spending the night with us.’

The suggestion has her stilling instantly, the meaning of the words he had spoken sinking in slowly, before her lips twitched upwards uncertainly.

‘Is this one of Alistair’s jokes? Has he talked you into this?’ She laughs, amused by the king’s antics before the laughter dies in her throat at the crease in Cullen’s brow, the stern set of his lips.

‘I thought the same,’ he confesses after a moment, ‘but…he was serious. For once.’

Confusion settles into her gut as she sits upright, facing her commander more directly, her lower lip pinched between her teeth.

‘And what answer did you give him?’

He swallows thickly at that, eyes darting away from her.

‘I…told him I would discuss it with you.’

She feels her brows draw into a frown, unbidden, the same unsettled feeling from before setting her stomach trembling. If the offer was real…she didn’t even know where to begin with this.

‘If you said you’d discuss it, does that mean you want to?’

‘I’m uncertain.’ He says quickly, as if that should appease her. It doesn’t. It only makes her more confused about where she stands on this.

‘When they say, spend the night with them…how do they want that to work? Do they want us to just swap partners?’

‘Alistair implied that all, uh, combinations would be considered, as long as everyone was comfortable with it. He hastened to add that if we’re not happy or comfortable, he’d not bring it up again.’ 

‘So…the queen wants to…’ she can’t bring herself to say the words, shocked as she is at the concept. Elizabeth was a beautiful woman but that didn’t mean she wanted to…oh.

Oh. It came and went in a flash, a flicker of interest, in arousal at the idea of tangling with the other woman, her mind falling back to the memories of their fight, the strength in the woman’s hands as she’d held her down, the ripple of muscle under ashen skin.

‘What would you make of that?’ she asks Cullen, feeling heat flare, watching as his eyebrows lift.

‘I hadn’t considered it, in all honesty but the idea of seeing you with her in such a way is…appealing.’

Cullen’s golden gaze drops from hers the moment he’s finished speaking, as if expecting her to lash out, but his words have her intrigued now, looking at the situation from a different angle; wondering how it would feel not only to be with another woman, but to be watched whilst doing so, the eyes of her lover and…

And Alistair. She’d been so caught up in the idea of what it would be like to give Cullen to another woman, and to engage with Elizabeth, she’d barely given any thought to the king. But now those thoughts were running freely, curious what the former warden looked like beneath all that fur and leather, eager to know if he was as playful in the bedroom as he was in the rest of his life.

Appeal aside though, she couldn’t say that she was completely comfortable with the idea.

‘And what of seeing me with another man?’ she asked again.

‘If it makes you happy, and if it’s Alistair I…suspect I’d rather enjoy the display. And enjoy making you mine all over again as they watched.’ His eyes have darkened now, his voice deepened into something husky and lustful. ‘And what of you? Do you think you could watch me with Elizabeth…or Alistair?’

The answer, to her surprise, was on her lips immediately.

‘It would be cruel of me to deny them the pleasure of knowing my commander, when they’re both so clearly in need of you.’

Cullen’s eyebrows lifted at that, a pleased smile curling his lips as he crossed back to her, taking her hands.

‘I must be the luckiest man alive to have found such an adventurous partner,’ he pauses once more, kneeling in front of her ‘…you…you don’t think me…a deviant, then?’

‘No. I think you’re a man who knows two very attractive people when he sees them. Although…I would like to take it slowly, if we’re to do this. Joking aside it’s…’

‘It’s a lot to take in, I know.’

‘But I’d be willing to try.’

He smiles again, content, relaxed.

‘I’ll send word to them then, although it would probably be best to give Alistair some time to recover before we make any plans.’

‘Do it quickly then, before I lose my nerve.’ She orders, a hint of playfulness in her voices to cover the tremble that falls somewhere between excitement and nervousness.

‘As you command, inquisitor.’

\--

The reply comes the next day, a stylishly penned ‘at your earliest convenience’ on a folded piece of paper, delivered by Alistair’s groom. If the man knows anything of the note’s contents or meaning, he makes no suggestion of it, bowing to Artemis as she returns with another note, a time and date set on it.

Tomorrow night. 6.00pm, dinner and drinks at the inquisitor’s private quarters.

A flutter of excitement courses through her at the words, followed by the almost constant nervousness that’s settled in her stomach ever since he brought the subject up. She spends the rest of the say burying herself in paperwork, hoping to take her mind off it. It doesn’t work, not that she’s expecting it to, and more than once she considers calling the whole thing off. It’s only her own curiosity that keeps her from doing so.

She wonders what it would be like to watch Cullen and Alistair together. When her commander had told her of their past dalliances, she’d not known how to take the news, other than to assure him it didn’t change anything between them. But now…now she wonders how it will feel to see them, to watch Cullen’s perfect scar press to Alistair’s beautifully full lower lip, to watch strong hands hold each other. To see their…

No.

Not that thought. Not yet, she reminds herself, looking down at the stack of papers beneath her elbow. She’s not ready for that, unsure of how she’ll react, and she buries herself in work once more, hoping that her nerves will last until tomorrow’s dusk.

\--

The moment arrives both sooner and later than Artemis had hoped; unprepared and overexcited, she has to remind herself to breathe, calm down, when the knock falls on the door. Cullen throws her a glance, a silent question as to whether she’s well enough and she nods without a word before descending to the door.

She worries if this will be to their liking. The balcony doors are still open, allowing the early evening air into the room, the sunset that’s filtering across the mountain ranges filling the room with dusky pink light. Autumn’s chill is beginning to descend with the sun, but it’s still pleasantly warm in the room, a small fire crackling in the hearth, and no doubt when the sun’s rays have completely disappeared from the sky they’ll close themselves in with heavy velvet curtains.

The royal couple greet her warmly, Alistair’s spirits high as he follows her into the room, and if either of them are nervous, it’s completely hidden by the king’s infectious humour and lively mood. There are jokes on his tongue within moments of stepping into the room, and when she asks about his minor head injury, he laughs it away, blaming his self-declared bumbling incompetence, as always.

‘By which he means, “I’m fine, thank you”.’ Elizabeth supplied, smiling at her husband who only nods amiably in agreement.

Cullen smirks, apparently on the same wavelength of translating everything of Alistair’s superfluous ramblings into more direct statements. He’s offering pre-dinner drinks a moment later, surprisingly proficient in handling their guests. Not that proficiency was something he was generally lacking in, but Cullen was hardly one for these sort of affairs. Then again, there was his own glass of rioja sat on the table already, half empty from his nervous sipping.

She takes a glass as he offers it to her, her favourite moscato, before she invites the queen to the same drink, relieved when she finds it to her liking. 

‘From Antiva.’ She informs her as the other woman drinks the sweet wine, wondering how she’s managing to make small talk about alcoholic grape juice when the thoughts of the night’s events lay ahead. She’s even, if she’s honest, a little impressed with herself for holding her own nerve, more so when the wine glistens enticingly on Elizabeth’s lips for a moment, before she blots it away with a handkerchief.

With drinks ready, they sit down to eat. The cook has prepared the finest meal she can for them, but despite the beautiful flavours, Artemis finds she barely tastes any of it. She’s far more interested in watching the way Elizabeth’s scar ripples when she chews, how the apple in Alistair’s throat bobs whenever he swallows. It amazes her too, how civilized this all is, how no one yet has given way to nerves or lustful comments. She’d been expecting Alistair to make some sort of lewd joke long before now, but he remains surprisingly well behaved as they move onto the main course.

One would think they hadn’t all agreed to a night of torrid lovemaking together.

It happens eventually though. A slip of a wine loosened tongue that turns an innocuous comment into some double entendre that is skillfully ignored by all, save for a moments pause. It marks the beginning of the downwards spiral of their conversation nevertheless, until entirely innocent words are met with metaphorical winks and nudges, sly smiles and coy glances.

Dessert only provides more ammunition for quips and deviousness, chocolate sauce sucked and licked from fingers, although in Alistair’s case, she’s fairly certain that the seductiveness of it really is by chance. Elizabeth’s movements are more intentional, the eye contact that she makes with them lingering for far longer than necessary as she eats. Her giggles, brought on by the alcohol in her blood, ruin it somewhat and Artemis finds that she likes this relaxed, playful almost girlish version of the woman.

The meal is followed by more drinks, Alistair and Cullen trying to outdo each other on the finer points of whiskey, though she’s certain that neither of them have any real idea about what a fine whiskey is. The words ‘smooth’, ‘peaty’ and ‘well-aged’ are mentioned frequently, along with an assortment of other adjectives that she’s never been able to associate with a liquid that burns like fire down her throat. Elizabeth seems to be in agreement, eventually retiring a little, to the smaller sofa that sits by the coffee table as she takes up her own place.

Alistair is with them almost immediately, unceremoniously hoisting his wife out of the chair so that he can sit in it himself, draping her across his lap again once he’s comfortable. She glares at him briefly, though there’s no real weight to the look anymore, and he quickly sets to wiping it away by peppering her face with kisses.

Cullen joins her on the sofa, watching the display with a raised eyebrow as he settles beside her, and she curls into him, her head resting on his shoulder. Somewhere in her gut, jealousy jolts, watching the two so open with their affections. She and Cullen had never quite become comfortable with public displays, and to see the two so at ease made her wish that they could be.

Not that the king and queen were particularly public, per say, but that most she had ever gotten out of Cullen was a quick peck on the cheek.

The urge to kiss him now, to see how he reacts, sets in quickly and she looks up to him, only to find him staring openly at the other couple, surprise and arousal written onto his face. She follows his gaze back to them, understanding why.

The light pecks that Alistair had been teasing Elizabeth with had turned to something far more intense, one hand on her slender neck, the other curled into the carefully coiled hair. His lips are at her jaw, mouthing softly, the tip of his tongue skimming gently over moonlight pale skin and Elizabeth tilts her head back, a soft sigh escaping her as blue eyes drift shut.

A bolt of arousal shoots to Artemis’s groin at the sight of the enraptured lovers and she knows with a sudden clarity, as Cullen shifts towards her, that this was how it would all begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to you all for reading. Hopefully that little snippet at the bottom will give you a good idea of what's coming in the next few chapters, which are underway.
> 
> Kudos, comments etc. always greatly appreciated :)


	12. No turning back (NSFW - AlistairxElizabeth & CullenxTrevelyan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys and girls finally get down to business...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to everyone who's read, kudos'd and commented so far.
> 
> If anyone's interested, I've finally got myself a tumblr blog: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cinnamonsweetrolls
> 
> As for this chapter...we finally made it.
> 
> Please enjoy!

It began with Cullen crossing to the balcony as dusk streaked across the late evening sky, pulling closed balcony doors and heavy velvet curtains, sealing away night’s steady fall.

Task complete, he crossed back to his love, still stretched out on the chaise longue, her eyes rapt on the couple she sat opposite. The plush cushions of the sofa sank under his weight as he eased himself down next to her, keenly aware of his heart pounding, the rush of blood in his ears as he settled in behind her, feeling her warmth resting against him.

Her gaze didn’t even flicker from them.

If there was a couple that had ever been more enamoured with each other than King Alistair and Queen Elizabeth, he had never met them. It was clear in the way they fitted together, the utter devotion to the other in their touches, every action and reaction as they kissed and he found himself as hypnotized as Artemis at the display.

His arm crept around her, pressing her firmly against him, feeling the rise and fall of her body quickening with her breath, though his attention never wavered from his king and queen, just as hers didn’t.

Hands crept and held, Alistair’s broad palm cradling the back of Elizabeth’s head, fingers winding into thick red lock, heedless of the artfully arranged curls. He tightens his grip just so, tension in his fingers as he eases her head back, as much care and adoration in the gesture as there is control and dominance. 

The slow recline of her head reveals the length of her throat to him, a slender white stretch of skin that tightens with the motion. Deep pink lips fall to caress at that taut length, ghosting along the long line of her throat, the tip of his nose leading a careful trail upward, the amber of his eyes focused on the skin beneath his mouth as though he hasn’t kissed it a thousand times already. Inch by inch, he moves his attention upwards, slow, reverent, a thick fingered hand curling gently around her neck, a heavily calloused thumb stroking over the curve of her throat as his full lips meet hers. Breath catches, a sudden rise of her chest as they kiss fully, the bold paint she’d chosen that evening fading fast under his attentions.

Cullen’s own breath catches at the sight, remembering how eager those beautifully shaped lips could be, his attention locked as Elizabeth’s tongue flicks out, meeting her husband’s. Alistair’s moan, a soft, low grumble in his chest, is all it takes to have her stretching out for him, underneath him, fitting against his tall form as his lips wander again.

There are teeth against her earlobe, grazing down her jaw, nipping at taut skin, all the while making sure that every motion is on display to them. The king’s eyes opening briefly to chance a look at them, a pleased smile curving his mouth when he finds them watching eagerly and he returns to his task with fervor. They’re both aware of their eyes on them, that much is clear when Elizabeth’s blue eyes flutter open a moment later, her head turning slightly so she can meet Cullen’s gaze fully, dark with lust now, her expression unguarded as Alistair’s hand slips from her neck to trail the length of her back, pressing her up against him.

Under his own hands, Cullen feels Artemis squirm, her breath quickening along with Elizabeth’s at Alistair’s attentions, still upon his wife’s neck and she shuffles back against him, seeking pressure. He can’t stop the slide of his arms around her further, hands resting on her stomach, stroking lightly, restlessly. He doesn’t know what he wants more right now; to be Elizabeth or to be Alistair, or to be doing those things to Artemis, watched by the other two. But he suspects all those will come to pass anyway, his skin growing warm with the thought of promises, as much as watching the two lovers.

It’s at Elizabeth’s soft low moan, Alistair’s full mouth at her collarbone now, that he feels his cock twitch and stir. Artemis smiles back over her shoulder at him, teasing for a moment before her attention returns to the display, her hand finding his and tugging at it gently. He doesn’t need to be told twice as she moves it, slowly, towards her breast, cupping the full flesh gently as his eyes return to the spectacle before them.

Elizabeth has moved now, shifting under her husband to free one of her legs and he follows the motion for a moment, watching as her slim leg draws up beside him. He moves to cup her ankle as she does, pausing briefly to slip off the light shoe she wore, fingers tracing the length of her foot before moving upwards. His path is slow, steady, the barest graze of fingertips up the back of her calf becoming incrementally firmer, his fingers pressing into flesh by the time he reaches her thigh. He rucks the skirt of her dress up as he does, pale blue cotton pooling in her lap, just shy of revealing the apex of her thighs. 

He pauses when his hand slips around the back of her thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles into taut muscle, eyes flashing up to catch his wife’s gaze. They all understand what it is, a moment of uncertainty, about whether they’re ready to go any further, their touches straying into realms where they know they won’t pull from back easily. But Elizabeth nods, a soft smile on painted lips, her foot tracing the line of her husband’s hip, a clear enough agreement on her part.

Cullen knows his own answer before Alistair even moves his attention over to him and Artemis, the hand on her breast squeezing lightly. He makes a show of dragging his thumb heavily over the nipple he can feel hardening beneath his hand, watching as Alistair’s eyebrows lift in surprise at the action, feeling Artemis rock back into his own hips while her chest pushes into his palm. He can’t see the expression Artemis is wearing, but it seems to be eager enough as Alistair’s familiar grin returns before he turns his attention back to Elizabeth once more.

The woman is rocking against him now, making each movement as slow and deliberate as Alistair’s own. Her head tilts back once more, revealing that slender, sinewy column, though her king ignores it, his mouth favouring the plain of her chest, the hand on her leg slipping higher, disappearing under the folds of her skirt. The motion, though hidden, isn’t lost to any of them, the lifting of her hips against his as his hands grip her backside and she breathes heavily, chest rising under Alistair’s lips, her own parting to express encouragement of his actions.

Her eyes flutter open when the hand supporting her back lowers her gently onto the sofa again, Alistair freeing himself to tug on the laces of her dress. Confusion flickers over his face when she stops him, and Cullen feels it too, mingled with worry that perhaps this has gone too far for her, that it wasn’t what she thought it would be. Beside him, the languid rocking of Artemis’s hips slows and his own thumb, still on her breast, halts, anxious to see what the queen will do. Their confusion seems to be for nothing though, for she gently pushes Alistair away, rising off the chaise longue to toe off her remaining shoe.

It’s the first time Cullen notices her feet, somewhat confused and amused when he notes the vivid purple paint on each nail. She lifts an eyebrow at his attention, returning the smile, as if she understands that purple toenails are not queenly, but she doesn’t care either and her attention returns to more important issues.

Like undressing.

She has Alistair’s rapt attention as he sits up, eyes dark with lust as he looks up at her and she leans down to whisper in his ear, cupping his chin gently and placing the softest kiss on his bottom lip. He leans back against the sofa after that, aroused, relaxed, his palm running over the bulge in his trousers for a breath moment. His eyes find Cullen’s own and Artemis’s once more, a pleased smile gracing his lips before he gestures for their attention to fall upon his wife.

She stands before them all, in the center of the little cluster of chairs, tall and pale, her eyes bright and cheeks flush with the warmth of wine, her movements as bold and graceful as ever.

Slender fingers move to her back, spine arching dramatically as she reaches for the ties that run down her back, catching a lace. Her hands work behind her, shielded from his and Artemis’s gaze, though when she’s worked enough of the material free she pulls on them playfully, mischief in her eyes. It’s a stark and welcome contrast to her normally stern countenance. But this was her, Elizabeth beneath the role of queen and commander, just Alistair’s wife now and a woman intent on chasing all their pleasures.

The silk of her dress slides from her lithe form easily, pooling in a pale blue puddle at her feet and she steps from it easily before tossing the fine material aside, chin raised as she turns to them, proud as she exhibits herself.

She wears barely anything underneath that modest dress.

Cullen had always thought that even when in casualwear, a royal would be expected to wear layer on layer of constrictive, embellishing finery; corsets and girdles and structured brasseries. Instead she wears nothing but a pair of high cut briefs and chemise, cinched in at her narrow waist and beautifully made no doubt, but still, no more elaborate than what any other woman would wear. There's no artificial structure, no hidden boosts to her modest cleavage. She doesn't need it, her figure cut and honed to the peak of what it could be as it is.

She's not womanly, he thinks, even as she sheds briefs and camisole, her all but white skin dappled with the soft red glow of firelight, not in the traditional sense. Her curves are slight, hips narrow and breasts small, adorned with peaked pink nipples. More than a little muscle graces her lithe frame, the sweep of biceps and the firm lines of abdominal muscles replacing the softness that she was expected to hold.

And yet she wasn't any less feminine for it, her athletic figure effortlessly elegant and graceful, long and lean and refined. There's a slight sway to her hips, her buttocks still beautifully round and pert. There’s a ripple of light muscle beneath the unmarked skin on her back as she turns, the creamy tone of her flesh soft and appealing. But still, it’s her style he finds most inviting; bold and beautiful in her confidence, her ease of manner, the flow of her movements.

She reaches up as she moves slowly to her husband, her fingers finding the pins that are holding her hair in carefully crafted coils. A tug, and a spiral falls free, bouncing enticingly as it falls to her waist. It's joined by another, and another until there's a cascade of copper curls at her back. Delicate fingers run through the mass, teasing, smoothing, tight ringlets giving way to her hair's natural soft wave. That, he can’t deny, is utterly beautiful, a torrent of gleaming red that’s so sharp in contrast to her softly coloured skin, that it should be unpleasant. Instead, it only serves to highlight her strange, unconventional attraction, firm lines and shallow curves, and he can’t wait to run his tongue over that snowy skin.

His queen moves to Alistair, her husband gazing at her, a smile on his lips, besotted by her as she climbs onto him, the waves of her dark red her brushing her waist as she eases into his lap, her arms wrapping about his shoulders as she presses a kiss to his cheek, whispers into his ear. His hands find her waist instantly, holding gently as he smiles up at her, adoring, warmth and affection plain on his face as he lifts his chin to kiss her.

Lips meet gently, tenderly, a decade’s worth of commitment and affection in every detail of their motions as they move together. His hands, so large compared to her delicate features, move to cup her cheeks, tracing her jawline with reverent strokes as he does, sliding further to tangle in her hair as she presses against him.

There's a subtle rhythm to them, the give and take of their mouths, their hands, the play of the breath as they move. He knows just when and where to kiss her, when to hold her, how to make her smile for him. And he knows when to arch into her touch, moaning softly to encourage her as her fingers twine into the golden red of his hair, drifting down to his collar to untie the laces there. He arches his neck as she does, prompting her to nip and kiss at lightly stubbled skin, her teeth scraping at the spot just below his ear, tongue tracing a delicate path down the center of his throat.

She has his full attention, his full compliance as she nibbles at exposed collarbones, her hands finding the edge of his shirt and lifting it easily over his head, tousling his hair from its carefully arranged state. The act makes him look young and boyish, his eyes bright beneath unruly hair, lips parted in his ever present, blinding smile.

It doesn't last long, his expression changing to one of bliss once again as she moves her attention back to the clean lines of his exposed torso. The dark amber of his eyes flutter closed, his head reclining once more, every well-developed muscle lax and he lolls beneath her attentions. His skin is only a few shades darker than hers, dappled with the lightest hints of freckles, as though he’s been dusted with copper. It’s a wonderful complement to her perfect white, the paler, golden shades of his hair against her deep red.

It’s Elizabeth’s next movement that draws a moan from him, pushing him down to lie on his back as she straddles his hips, her hand rubbing heavily over him before she begins to untie the laces at his groin. The action tells of her training, fingers deft and light as she unties heavy cords, pulling aside the heavy fabric at his crotch to reveal light underclothes, already straining to contain him.

The sight reminds Cullen of just how he’s in a similar state and he grinds hard against Artemis’s still clothed backside, struggling to hold back his own groan at the beautiful pressure. She shifts again in response, eyes never leaving the couple before them as her hands move to her own clothes now. He’s all too willing to lend a hand of his own, undoing the laces at the sides of her bodice with far less finesse than Elizabeth managed, but not caring about just how that appears just now. Instead, he settles for helping her to slip the material off, nipping at the golden skin of her neck.

In his peripheral vision, he notes Alistair and Elizabeth’s own motions slowing as they become aware of the activity of the other sofa, equally lust blown eyes falling on him and Artemis. Alistair’s hands halt their descent on ‘Lis’s hips, the queen’s pausing on Alistair’s lightly haired chest to watch Artemis’s unveiling.

He’s surprised to see what she’d chosen to wear beneath her dress, his normally demure lover usually opting for something modest but supportive. So when he throws the bodice aside, he’s amused to discover that, like Elizabeth, she’s chosen to wear only a full length chemise, the thin linen doing little to hide the full swell of her bosom and the hardness of her nipples. Lower though, and she’s donned a waist cinching corset that sits snugly under her bust and although he’s never normally a fan of such items, he can’t help but admire the way it highlights her chest and defines the full curve of her waist.

He moves to run his hand over it, tracing the beautiful dips and sweeps of her body before, like Alistair had his own partner, rucking up her skirt. He chooses to leave it there, just covering her groin - let them have a little mystery, a little titillation as his hand slips under the band of her briefs.

It’s Artemis’s gasp as he pulls the material away from her that makes his cock throb once more, painfully constricted by the leather of his own clothing, and he fights the urge to release it, focusing on her instead, putting on as much of a show for their guests as they had. He’s careful as he moves, watching her reactions for any sign of hesitance as he cups at her mound, the pad of his index finger finding her parting amongst trimmed curls. She’s damp beneath his fingertip, breath catching as he presses gently between her lips, finding her inner curls already soaked, ever wetter as he continues his ponderous path to her opening, gathering wetness on his finger as he does. 

The swift swipe of his finger upwards has her twitching, a gasp in her throat as he settles on the bundle of nerves, rubbing in slow, light circles, teasing the ridge until it’s hard. She twists in his arms as he does, her mouth finding his, warm and wet, the taste of sweet wine on her tongue still.

There’s a groan across from them, Alistair copying his own motions with his thumb, rubbing more firmly at Elizabeth’s bare sex as her fingers work once more to free him from the final layer of clothing. He springs free, long and hard as she takes him in hand, her thumb swiping over the deep pink head, and Cullen grunts, hips thrusting, frustrated now and he pauses in his ministrations only to unlace his own breeches, tugging himself free frantically so that his own cock rests in the cleft of Artemis’s wonderfully rounded backside. 

Alistair notes the movement with no small amount of interest, amber eyes flicking restlessly, unsure whether to watching Elizabeth in her appreciations, or their hosts, torn with indecision until Elizabeth leans over him, nipples skimming lightly along his chest as she does. She pauses at his ear, whispering once more until his eyes widen slightly, catching her gaze before she catches his mouth with her own. Cullen can’t help but notice the way she moves over her husband, hands smoothing over skin even as their kiss breaks and Alistair’s gaze returns fully to him for a moment, uncharacteristically unreadable. 

That gaze flickers shut when Elizabeth shuffles above him, hands gripping at the length of his proud shaft, holding it in place as she rolls her hips above him. She doesn’t guide him inside, not yet, instead letting him slide against her, through her folds, until he’s coated with a glistening sheen of her arousal. There’s a pause as she brings him to her entrance, body poised above his, and his eyes return to hers, a smile curving her mouth before she rolls her hips.

As if being entered herself, Artemis gives a strangled moan, her hand which had flown to his hip tightening as the queen sinks onto her husband’s length, inch by sublime inch, the inquisitor’s free hand finding her own breast, plucking at her nipple as Elizabeth works her king deep into herself.

His own cock jumps, hard, insistent against Artemis’s buttocks and the hand trapped under her suddenly finds a way to free itself, gripping at her breast again, pulling away the thin linen of her shift to grab at bare flesh. Her nipple is tight under his palm, and his fingers find their way to it, tugging gently, relishing the way her entire body presses back against him, arousal growing hot and heavy in his loins, his cock throbbing now. She parts her legs just enough to let him slide between them, the broad head of his cock waiting at her entrance, watching as Elizabeth tilts her head back, fully seated, gasping and moaning as Alistair fills her.

Heat strikes him at the sound of their joined moans, gathering hot and heavy, pressure and tightness coiling at the base of his cock, mesmerized by the other couple and their rhythmic motions. The queen’s hands are planted firmly onto the plains of Alistair’s chest, fingers curling hard as he rolls upwards, surging into her with a single fluid motion. He withdraws a moment later, slowly, his eagerness to put on a show for them back in play as his hands find his wife’s hips, holding her firmly in place. His length is glazed with her lust, inches slowly appearing from between pink lips and Cullen can’t help but grunt as he swells, certain that he’s going to spill before he gets the chance to join with his own love. 

Artemis has had the same idea, it seems, reaching down with trembling hands, guiding his head to her, and he doesn’t waste any time in fulfilling her wishes, entering with a sudden, hard thrust, a counterpoint to the measured actions of the couple they’re watching. She’s soaking, clenched around him, almost unbearably hot. It sears him, from the tip of his head deep into the root of his cock, his eyes riveted as Alistair suddenly drives his hips upwards, evoking a loud, pleased gasp from his queen.

He loses any control he has at the sight of her writhing, the simultaneous clench of Artemis’s walls around him sending him into chaotic motion. With barely time for her to adjust, he retreats again, surging forwards with as much force as he can in the awkward position he’s in. Muscles ripple about his length as he moves, clutching at him as he builds a desperate pace, gripping at her thigh to drape it over his hip, parting her as much as he can before growling into her ear;

‘Touch yourself.’

Artemis complies immediately, fingers flying downwards to rub at her clit frantically, and he finds himself groaning in time with her moans, relishing her taking her own pleasure in the act as much as his own. She’s pressing back against him hard, unwilling to lose the warmth of his body through the thin layers of their clothing, and he can’t fault her, waves of heat crashing over him. Tension centers itself in his lower body, tightening over and over, growing with every clench of her walls about him, every wail of pleasure that Elizabeth releases as she gives herself over to passion, every flicker of want in Alistair’s eyes as they land on him, on Artemis, on his gloriously naked wife.

It’s no surprise when Elizabeth comes first, her back arching suddenly, fingers sinking into the taut skin of Alistair’s chest as her entire body grows tense. She all but screams as she does, as still and pale as a marble statue as she gives in, eyes screwed shut and mouth agape in a blissfully agonized expression. It lasts but a few moments, her stillness giving way to quiet tremors along her arms, and Alistair seizes his chance, his duty to her complete. Thick arms seize around her slender waist as he pulls her down to his chest, somehow flipping them over so that she lies beneath him and he wastes no time in rutting into her desperately, his graceful motions growing sloppier by the second as he surrenders.

He’s no quieter than what Cullen remembers, the noise he makes somehow caught between a groan and a wail, his toes curling against the sofa’s arms. It’s all the encouragement Cullen needs to seek his own ending.

With the display before them over, he focuses on Artemis, still aware of his hips pistoning in and out of her tightness, and his mouth falls to her neck, nipping at sensitive flesh, kneading the breast in her hand roughly and relishing the way she tightens about him at the motion. She rarely reacts like this, letting her voice speak her pleasure now where she usually stifles her noises, and he relishes the noise, unfamiliar and utterly beautiful. But not enough, not yet. He longs to hear it crescendo as she peaks, to feel her tighten and shudder beneath him and he redoubles his efforts, his thumb flicking over the stone hard nipple he wishes was between his lips. But he can make use of his mouth to just devastating an effect in other ways, aware of how she reacts to being spoken to and, more recently, her intrigue at being watched.

Lowering his mouth to her ear, he nibbles on it briefly, choosing his next words carefully;

‘They’re watching us, you know.’

The effect is immediate, her body stiffening temporarily, a few seconds of stillness before her hips roll again, back into his, hard, demanding.

‘Can you see them?’

Her honey blonde head dips as she nods, and though he can’t see her, he knows her eyes are riveted on the couple as they watch lazily now.

‘Can you imagine what you look like to them? Flushed and beautiful, writhing on my cock, touching yourself so desperately.’

She gasps, clenches about him and he can feel her climbing, wave upon wave of pleasure overwhelming her senses.

‘They wish they were here you know, wanting to be the ones to touch you, to make you come. They haven’t taken their eyes of you since we started.’

She’s shuddering beneath him, trembling and gasping, and he know she’s only moments away when he lowers his lips to her ear once again;

‘I think I’ll enjoy watching Alistair take you.’

His words hit their mark, and within moment’s she’s clenching around him, wailing as her orgasm crashes over her, the pull of her muscles on his cock dragging him with her. The world turns white behind his eyelids, a flash of pleasure so hot, so bright that it sears through his nerves, leaving him raw and grunting as he releases inside her.

The world comes back to him slowly, the softness of her body beside him the first thing he notices, before the murmur of voices follows and the pleasant tiredness in his limbs. A glance around the room and he finds himself nestled behind a thoroughly red faced Artemis, though she’s pulled off him now, tucked in beside him to preserve their modesty.

He’d have laughed at the thought, were he not so thoroughly tired and thoroughly pleased, his body warm and tingling, aching pleasantly.

Across from them, and he finds the other couple curled up on their own sofa together, a blanket draped over their nude bodies. If either of them is embarrassed by their display they don’t show it, save for the light blush that colours Alistair’s cheeks and Elizabeth’s hooded gaze suggests she’s anything but as her eyes draw languidly over he and Artemis.

She smiles brightly when he meets her gaze;

‘Well that went rather splendidly, if I say so myself. So who is game for round two?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who's read so far, hope this chapter didn't disappoint (smut game might be a tad rusty).
> 
> As always, kudos, comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :)


	13. Stoking the embers (NSFW - AlistairxArtemis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Artemis get to know each other a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cinnamon Sweetrolls](http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com/)
> 
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> 
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> 
> Enjoy!

There’s a hush in the air about them, nervous laughter on playful tongues, first steps taken but momentum faltering for a moment. It was one thing, Alistair realised, to watch another couple in their intimacy, but to leave the arms of your own partner, even if only temporarily, was quite another. He swallows thickly, feeling tensions starting to build again, and he’s reaching for something to say, a joke to dispel it, when Cullen interrupts, saving his wine and whisky addled mind;

‘Round two?’ He asks, with a slyly raised eyebrow, his lust roughened voice laced with surprise. ‘Already?’

He feels his own amusement rumble through his chest, a smile curving his lips at his former lover’s expression. With ten years of marriage between himself and Elizabeth it was easy to forget that those who weren’t tainted didn’t carry the famed stamina of the wardens, though he’d thought that his and Elizabeth’s had decreased somewhat, over time. Apparently he was wrong on that count.

‘Is...?’

The voice is muffled, and it takes him a moment to realise that it’s Artemis speaking, curled up as she is against her partner. She squirms in the commander’s arms, pushing herself into a more upright position in order to see them better. He can’t help but notice the full breast that’s displayed for a few moments with the motion, feeling a pang of want shoot through him at the sight. He knows better than to leer though, the inquisitor still clearly shy about her partial nudity and he turns to nuzzle at Elizabeth’s neck instead, comfortable as he curls around her.

‘Is that…the warden stamina we’ve heard so much about?’ She asks quietly. Her hesitation is palpable, her awareness that the effects of the taint in their blood had been the cause of so many problems for them, and he appreciates her delicacy in the matter.

‘Lis nods at the question, and he can hear the smile in her voice as she speaks.

‘It is. One of the more advantageous effects of the taint. Though I can’t help but feel it has dwindled a little lately.’

‘Best we take advantage of it sooner rather than later then.’ Cullen states, blunt as a lead pipe but devastatingly attractive in his assurance, golden eyes bright and eager. He falters a moment later, looking back down to the woman curled in his arms, questioning, clearly wondering if his statement was too bold for her tastes. She smiles back at him before turning her gaze towards himself and Elizabeth.

‘Best we had, if there are no objections, your Majesties?’

None. None on any account and Alistair can’t help but be pleased by this tentative boldness that’s sprung up in the inquisitor. As if able to read his mind, she lets her arm loosen slightly, just enough to hint at the round, supple flesh it’s concealing and his mouth grows dry, his cock stirring again.

‘No objections.’ Elizabeth purrs, wriggling her backside against him, coaxing a stronger reaction from his softened length. ‘In fact I’d say Alistair is positively enthusiastic about the idea.’

The blush is crawling its way onto his face before he’s even fully registered what she’s saying, though he has no idea why considering the rather overt acts they’ve just performed. There’s just something about having your wife point out that you’re getting aroused that’s intrinsically embarrassing, he supposed. Or at least, it would be for anyone raised in a chantry, though his partner has never shown much in the way of shyness herself. An odd trait, for a noblewoman of significant stature, he’d always thought. He’d assumed when Elizabeth had been introduced to him all those years ago that she’d be a retiring wallflower, an assumption she’d shattered within moments of her opening that wonderful mouth.

Artemis had been far more in line with his early preconceptions, and he, like ‘Lis, had been somewhat taken aback by her meekness when he’d first met her. Those little flickers of fire in her eyes though…that, he mused, was what had made her the leader she was now. The same fire that Elizabeth wasn’t afraid to show, always smoldering away until it was needed and then turning into a blaze at just the right moment. And it was beginning to burn brighter now, he noticed, swallowing once more as the woman’s frosted blue eyes caught on him. 

Uncertainty tugged at him suddenly, captured under her unwavering attention, a coquettish, if timid smile on pink lips. She was a lovely woman to behold and he had no doubts that those curves would be just as soft and delightful to hold as he imagined, but faithfulness held him still. There was only one woman he had ever lain with, other than Elizabeth, and he was not eager to have a similar experience to that, or the constant weight of guilt on his back that had followed him for the rest of his life. No matter how much Elizabeth had told him she didn’t need to forgive him, for there was nothing to forgive, it scratched away at the back of his mind, reminding him every now and then of what he had done so many years ago.

A light hand on the back of his neck drew his attention, Elizabeth sitting up so that she could meet his eye easily, her free hand finding its way to cup his jaw firmly. He leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed as she pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, calming, reassuring as her fingers wound into his hair. 

‘Alistair, it’s alright,’ she murmured, lips finding his ear, speaking softly as she held him, ‘it’s alright that you want this.’

But was it? His brow creased, his heart uncertain as he looked to her.

‘Is it? What I did, ‘Lis, all those years ago…’

‘Is something you did for us, because I asked you to and you trusted me. Alistair, I’ve never held that night against you, the guilt isn’t yours to bear but mine. I wish I could make you see that.’

He shakes his head, aware from the corner of his eye of Cullen and Artemis drawing back slightly, the commander reassuring her as Elizabeth was him.

‘I can’t…’

‘Do you want her?’

For all the softness of Elizabeth’s voice and caresses, the question is still painful sharp and he almost flinches at it. She knows he does, else he’d not have agreed to this scheme of hers. But to have Artemis and Cullen sitting with them now, on the verge of a moment he’s fantasized about since the idea was first mentioned. It’s almost too much.

But he could never lie to Elizabeth, couldn’t hide anything from her. He’d always sworn that he’d be open and honest with her, one of the vows he’d taken most to heart. Along with fidelity.

‘I…’ he finds her eyes, calm and quiet, so dark with lust in the flickering light of the inquisitor’s chambers that it almost steals his breath. ‘I...do.’

She smiles, placing a delicate kiss on his lips.

‘Then have her, if she’ll have you.’

‘And…you’re sure you don’t mind?’ 

‘Not only do I not mind, I want you to. I want to see what it’s like to watch you take another woman, I want to see you lose yourself in something new and exciting. You won’t disappoint me if you don’t want to, but, dear husband, I’m here for you every step of the way if you do.’

‘No secrets between us this time?’

She kisses at his nose again, always oddly fascinated by what she considers his most elegant of features, and he feels his loins begin to stir again, even as his heart lifts.

‘No secrets.’ She promises with a smile and a nod, her thumb brushing over his cheek once again.

He nods to himself, reassured, though he can’t help feel a flicker of guilt as he turns to look at Artemis, arousal raising its head again. He’s never understood how he can get turned on so quickly when he’s felt so disgusted moments before, but Elizabeth has never seemed to have an issue with it and if it has her approval, he guesses it can’t be so bad after all.

Resolute, he meets the other woman’s gaze once more, pale blue eyes lifting to meet his as he stands slowly from Elizabeth’s embrace. Artemis glances behind her, catching Cullen’s eyes and he can’t help but notice that whereas Elizabeth’s reassurance has come through soft touches and gentle words, Cullen’s is in the form of lust. He shifts as she breaks his stare, leisurely pulling his soft cock through the loosened front of his breeches. As if sensing that Alistair is watching him, the commander’s eyes flick up to him, and for as much lust and yearning that’s in the look he passes him, there’s a silent warning not to harm her.

As if he would do such a thing. But he takes the hint anyway, knows better than to even think of cajoling the woman if she seems hesitant. It’s why he lingers as she approaches him cautiously, her eyes appraising his nudity and he struggles not to squirm under her inspection. He’s spent so long at Elizabeth’s side that she knows every part of his body better than her own, and she’s never complained about the shape he’s in, ten years on and less toned than he once was.

That thought on its own is enough to make him doubt himself, his eyes flicking back to the all but fully clothed commander. Surely he can’t compare to a man who’s an active military leader, still training hard every day despite the paperwork that he has to complete. He tries to keep himself in good shape, trains as often as he can, as much for the break from court as his desire to keep up with his swordplay. But he can’t deny that even he’s noticed the weight that he’s gained, a fine layer of softness over his stomach that most definitely wasn’t there before.

But if Artemis is displeased with his appearance, she’s a master at hiding it, her eyes roaming freely over his chest and stomach, her lips parting slightly as her gaze slides lower to where his cock is beginning to swell. It’s what prompts him to step forwards, encouraged by the way her tongue flicks out to wet pink lips before she looks up to him.

Her eyes are blown with lust as she closes the last few steps between them, her head craned back to meet his gaze, and if he wasn’t quite so nervous, he would laugh at their height difference. That gives him pause, humour usually his first line of defense and he lets himself fall back into it, his comforting safety net as her eyes lock onto his lips.

‘So…should I bend, or would you like me to find you a box?’

Her eyes widen and he curses himself instantly.

‘Foot. Mouth. Bad. Right, sorry, I didn’t mean…anything.’ He mumbles, avoiding her gaze, surprised when her small, warm hand rests on his stomach, tracing the cut ridges there.

‘I suppose a mounting block might be helpful.’

The sudden sly humour takes him entirely unawares, and he knows that he must be gaping like a fish in shock at her sudden boldness. But he likes it and within moments there’s a stupid smile on his face as she beams up at him, her eyes dark and playful as he dips low and captures her mouth.

Her response to him is slow, careful, inquisitive as she adjusts to him, and he feels the moment she grows comfortable, her lips pressing firmer against him. She leans up onto her tiptoes, and beneath her own lips he smiles, the action foreign but adorable, used to Elizabeth’s unusually tall stature. But he can’t deny the pleasure he gets from it, the way it means she has to press against him to maintain her balance.

And she’s so soft, so warm, her lips growing more eager as he wraps his arms around her as well as he can, dipping again. It’s awkward at best, his arms against her upper back and he frowns slightly, unhappy with the contact. Indecision tugs at him, the desire to lift her so that they can touch more easily at war with the idea that it’s too soon. But she’s so keen, her lips parting under his, letting her tongue stroke along his lower lip, her teeth worrying at it a moment later with gentle nibbles. He takes the hint, parting his own lips slowly, letting her tongue meet his own and it’s the soft moan she makes that decides for him, the noise shooting straight to his already stiffening cock.

He lets his hands slip lower, following the graceful curve of her spine, slowly, having to break the kiss as he dips to wrap his arms around her waist firmly. There’s a surprised noise in her throat as he does, his lips skimming along the soft lightly scented skin of her neck, maintaining as much contact as he can with her before he hoists her up. She shrieks, alarmed, amused, a startled giggle following soon after as she takes his hint, her legs wrapping about his waist as he supports her back. It makes kissing her that much easier, even more so now that she can cling to his shoulders for support and he smiles up at her before capturing her mouth again.

There’s a sigh as her tongue eases into his mouth, tangling slowly with his own, and he’s not sure who makes the noise, lost in the sensation of her against him. Pressure is building in his belly, low and hot, and he takes a moment to push it away. As much as he wants this, he also wants to take his time, to lay his partner down and learn her body, her responses. It’s difficult not to give into the urge immediately, instead letting her dictate the pace, Artemis’s hands skimming over his shoulder, sliding up the nape of his neck to curl in his hair.

A soft nip to his lower lip catches him off guard, the press of her hands suddenly heavier, nails scraping light trails over his skin. The hand in his hair tugs gently, and he follows her lead, tilting his head back. There’s teeth at his throat a moment later, scraping, teasing, her tongue following as she descends the long path of his neck, pausing only to whisper in his ear;

‘Down.’

He’s too eager to follow her orders, making sure he’s got a firm grip on her as he sinks to his knees, throwing their combined weight into his back and arms. He’s going to feel that in the morning, he suspects. It’s of little concern now though, moving an arm to support her back as he lowers her to the ground beneath them. She seems surprised by his careful movement, the way he pains himself to ensure her comfort, blue eyes curious as she stares up at him. 

He’d have smiled, made a joke, if it wasn’t for the sudden rude interruption of a pillow hitting him in the side of the head. He blinks rapidly, stunned out of the trance he’d been in before glancing up to his right, where his wife lay watching. Amusement warred with contrition on her face.

‘For the lady’s head.’ She provided after a moment, and he grumbles quietly to himself as he grabs the cushion, feeling the tip of Artemis’s bare breast brushing against him. Keenly aware of the slide of the hardened nipple against his own bare skin, he reaches up, tucking the pillow beneath her head, watching as loose blonde strands scatter over the fabric.

Task complete, he turns his attention back to her, a soft kiss against plump lips before he moves downwards again. She flexes her neck as he does, exposing its tanned length to him, and he nips at the point just below her ear before trail kisses down her neck. His tongue laps at the light salt of her skin, nose tracing over the faint undulations of muscle and sinew beneath her skin, taking in her scent.

She smells…sweet and rich, like honey and almonds and he wonders if she’s bathed in scented oils earlier that night, to leave such scents on her skin. It suits her, he decides, a complement to the rich tones of her hair and skin, despite its salty taste. It’s different to Elizabeth and the light scents she chooses to wear, orange blossom and vanilla, and he knows as his nose dips in the hollow between her collarbones, that the scents will remind him of this night for the rest of his life.

There’s a soft sigh again, impatient this time, a hand in his hair, and he takes the hint even as he swipes his tongue over her, his head drifting down further. The perfume of her skin grows stronger as he descends, finding the beginning of the valley between her bosom and the image of her massaging oils into each breast makes his cock jump hard.

If she notices, and she must, she doesn’t say anything, simply encouraging his head lower, until his path is blocked by fine linen. He remembers now, that she’s not yet disrobed, her chemise still covering her other breast, the corset and shift still obscuring his view and he decides firmly, that the situation needs rectifying. Immediately.

His hands move of their own accord, finding the clasps at the front of her corset. From his right, he hears Elizabeth chuckle, and he remembers distantly how she had scolded him the first time he had removed her own corset in such a manner, before letting him have his way. Artemis, in contrast, offers no reprimand, instead her hands join his as she breathes in hard, pulling the stiff material together in order to loosen the clasps. No sooner is the act completed that she arches her back, whipping the garment from under her and tossing it aside, relief plain on her face as she settles back down again. 

The fine layer of her cotton underdress doesn’t stand a chance as he grabs at the hemline, down near her knees and peels the garment upwards in a single smooth motion.

Oh, he thinks.

‘Oh, Maker.’ That one is aloud, and he distantly registers chuckles at his reaction from all three of the rooms other occupants as he takes in the sight of her.

She’s all full curves and generous swells, her peaked breasts more than able to fill his palm, dark pink nipples against warm, tanned tones of her skin. They hold his attention fully, prompting another chuckle, and he doesn’t care, gently taking a breast in each hand, pressing them together lightly and promptly burying his face between them.

If his unabashed gaze at her bust warranted a light chuckle, then this deserves a belly laugh, and it’s what he gets from Cullen, the strange warble of the commander’s laugh meeting his ears within moments. He wants to turn his head to glare up at the man, or to congratulate him on having near constant access to such a wonderful chest. He does neither, too engrossed in the feeling of warm, supple flesh against his face, his cheeks pleasantly cushioned and before he really knows what he’s doing, his mouth is full.

Her ensuing moan is full bodied, throaty, surprised. Beneath him, she arches, hands flying to his hair, pushing herself into his face and if he could smile at her reaction, he would. Instead, he favours sucking gently at her flesh, lips sealed around her nipple in the hope of drawing another moan from her. His hands still cup at each globe, kneading softly, his thumb running over the peak of the one that he’s not engrossed with, flesh pliant between his flexing fingers.

They’re beautiful, she’s beautiful, he thinks, listening to another sweet cry as his teeth graze curiously over her. He can’t believe how she overflows from his hands, bountiful, soft glorious flesh that molds to his palms, soft noises of pleasure leaving her as she responds to him, arching into his touch. He has to remind himself that there’s more to do here, more to explore as he pulls his mouth away, peppering kisses over her chest as his hands slip away.

Down, his hands slide, slow over the quiet swell over her stomach, following the lines of her waist, its defined taper, the sudden flare of broad hips. His mouth follows, lips brushing deep golden skin, flicking his tongue to meet her, scenting, tasting. He pauses as the indentation of her navel, a playful ring of kisses around the dip before he continues lower, shuffling on his knees and arching his back until he meets a lightly padded hipbone. There’s something about that gloriously sweeping curve that calls to him, and he leans, entranced, to her side; a slow graze of his lips along the outer edge, down and down again, until he’s at her thigh.

There’s a tickle of the finest golden hairs against his mouth as he descends, kissing at the outside of her knee and lifting it, turning her leg out to bare the paler inside of her thighs. A glance up to blue eyes peering over the top of her breasts and he chuckles quietly before making his way upwards again, slower this time. The tip of his tongue traces the most delicate line he can manage, ever upwards, pausing to kiss at the tiniest white scar where she’s nicked herself shaving.

Beneath his mouth, she tenses, anticipation or apprehension, he’s not quite sure and he pauses again, meeting her eyes once more. For all the lust he finds in their depths, there’s a flicker of uncertainty, and he places a gentle kiss to that soft flesh once more before pulling away with a wistful glance to damp curls, moving up so that they’re face to face once more. The tension across her shoulders disappears immediately and she reaches up to him, fingers through his hair as she kisses him again, grateful for his consideration. 

His hands rest at her waist now, concern ruling for a moment, despite the urgent throbbing in his loins, the searing heat building in his muscles. She must sense his hesitation, her kisses growing more insistent, encouraging. A hand leaves his hair, trailing lightly across his shoulder and down his arm, pausing at his bicep to squeeze appraisingly, her lips curling into a pleased smile at the firmness she finds there. He flexes as that, a smug smirk over his own mouth at her pleased reaction. Cullen might have been trimmer than he was now, but he’d always been taller and broader, always carried more muscle than the other man. Fingertips trace the outer curve of his bicep, squeezing as she goes, pausing to look at the flutter of freckles that cover his skin. He shifts, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, unsure why the handful of lovers he’d taken in his life were so intrigued by the blemishes that dotted his skin. She doesn’t linger for long though, her hand continuing downwards, briefly entwining his fingers with her before she directs him lower, down between her thighs.

He pauses then, despite the deliberate nature of her directions, meeting her eye once more. Pale blue greets him, relaxed and pleased and she nods once, her confirmation. 

Just his mouth between her thighs she’s wary of then.

Her hand releases his, lingering on the back of his wrist as he looks down, fingertips running smooth over skin, stroking gently at her outer lips, wondering over her complete lack of hair. The slightest prickle of stubble is present, dark blonde curls shaved neatly away, allowing him an unfettered view as he traces a thick finger down over her seam, following the curve down to soft flesh. Her breath hitches, legs shuffling restlessly as he settles between them, a thumb and forefinger teasing her folds apart.

She’s shockingly pink, dewy delicate folds between golden skin, her scent rising to meet him, and it’s hard not to give into the urge to bend down and lick the fragile skin, to see what noises he can coax from her. He settles for using his fingers instead, the tip of his index finger gliding through, gathering her wetness before returning to her clit. She jerks at just the lightest pass of his finger over her, still shielded by the soft hood of skin and he pauses to gently move that thin covering, stroking over her once more.

She doesn’t make a noise this time and he looks up, cock throbbing from her scent, the glisten of her curls. Head reclined, she has her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, eyes screwed closed as though its already becoming too much. Truth be told, he half hopes it is, despite the enjoyment he gets from watching her write. He wants to know how she feels around him, if she’ll welcome him in with one stroke, or if she’ll let him sink in inch by inch.

He’s aware, distantly, of movement to his right, Elizabeth shifting on her sofa and he pauses, chances a look to his wife. She looks utterly at ease with the situation before her, eyes bright and lips parted, following the movements of his finger gently circling Artemis’s nub, her breathing falling into synchronicity with his attentions. Her eyes catch his for a moment, and she smiles lightly, before turning her attention back to where his fingers flicks, drawing shudders from the pliant body beneath him.

He wonders what she’d be doing if their positions were reversed, if she were the one settled between Artemis’s trembling thighs. Would she let her lick her, as he wanted to? Would she stroke her until she cries out, burying her long fingers inside her, coaxing moans and screams from her? Or would she pay as much attention to those glorious breasts as he had, suckling on hardened nipples as fingers pumped inside her?

Just the idea of the two women entangled in each other’s arms, shapely legs twining, soft lips pressed together, has him groaning inwardly, his hips shuffling restlessly at the image playing through his mind. The sudden desire to see them, to hear their voices rise together as they carried each other to pleasurable highs seized him, and without a second thought his fingers slide down, a heavy drag across pulsing flesh before sinking into her in one smooth motion. 

Hips jerk and rise in response, a soft whimper as she seizes upon his digit. She’s tight, unbelievably so, given that she had Cullen’s not inconsiderable girth buried inside her less than an hour ago and he curls his fingers slowly, watching her body arch up with the motion, as slow as the drag of his fingertips against her front wall. The breadth of her hips drops back to the ground a moment later, ragged pants meeting his ears, her fingers curling to the plush rug beneath them as he repeats the motion, another firm sweep of his fingers that evokes a soft wail this time. 

Maker, she’s beautiful, her golden skin dappled with firelight and sweat, the sight of her body rendered taut with pleasure sending lust singing through his veins. In the pit of his stomach, heat coils sharply, tension rising within his own muscles and he rolls his body upwards, above her, capturing a nipple between his lips once more as his fingers twitch inside her. Each movement sends her high, brings her closer, her entire body reacting to his touch and he’s utterly captivated by the display, the way her chest shudders beneath him, her back arching, pushing plush breasts against his face. If it wasn’t for the fact he was desperate to feel her warmth around his cock, he’d be content to just watch her come, to take in the details of her face as pleasure overwhelms her.

But there’ll be time for that later, or so he hopes, too concerned with easing his own ragged nerves and he withdraws his fingers, stills long enough to prompt her to look at him. Her eyes meet his, concerned, confused and he lowers his hips a fraction, enough to bring his crown against her folds, the lightest pressure he can manage.

‘May I?’ he asks, barely able to form the words now with lust and excitement coursing through him and he feels his cock twitch, unbidden, dragging a moan from her.

‘Yes. I mean, please, I mean…’ she babbles, nervous, almost incoherent but so sure, so wanton when she meets his gaze, her hips lifting a fraction as she does, angling for him to slide in. And he does, pushing in with as much restraint as he can muster, her own arousal and Cullen’s release slicking the way as he eases in to her. So wet, so hot, so tight and he pants, eyes closed as he sinks, trying to ignore the noises around him, the way Artemis moans, the soft gasp that Elizabeth gives as she watches him breach her. It’s only Cullen who remains silent and in a moment of madness, his eyes flick over to his former lover, curious as to what he thinks of the scene before him.

If the jutting of his weeping cock and hard set of his jaw is anything to go by, he’s more than pleased and Alistair turns his attention to his wife again briefly. She says nothing, watching wide eyed and eager.

Well. That was a better reaction from both of them than he had hoped for. With a sudden realization that each of his other lovers is benefitting from this as much as Artemis is, he surges forwards, eager to put on a show for them, to wind them up into a frenzy until they’re desperate for each other.

Beneath him, Artemis groans, her head tilted back and he leans down, gentle kisses to her neck as he draws out as far as he can, rolling his hips slowly back, allowing them full view of his motions. With just the tip of his cock still inside her, he pushes forwards again, just as slowly, relishing the wet slide of her skin against his, humming when he’s fully sheathed once more. She clutches at him, hands and core, the hypnotic rhythm of her muscles drawing him in, her soft moans spurring him. Each withdrawal and thrust erodes his composure a little more, every whimper form Artemis, every startled breath and frustrated shift of their audiences’ hips pushing him closer. 

His hips pick up their pace without him even noticing, lost in the motion of their bodies, blood roiling in his veins as pleasure sings through his nerves. There are nails in the soft skin of his back, digging, dragging as he legs wrap about his waist. Her hips are rocking to meet his, breasts bouncing with every movement, hair fanned about her head in a deeply golden halo, pink lips parted in what he hopes is ecstasy as he rocks with her. It’s all he can do to cling to his own restraint, begging himself not come before she does, focused on giving her every shred of pleasure he can manage without hurting her, unwilling to push her legs back to her shoulders lest she finds it unpleasant. 

He works as best he can, hips pounding against hers, listening to the wet slap of sweat slicked skin, feeling her clutching at him, muscles burning, but nerves burning brighter as he moves. 

There’s a stutter in her breathing, a catch as her chest heaves and holds, another dragged in moments later and he can see her climbing. Shoulders and back arching off the plush rug beneath them, tension across her biceps as she stills entirely, coming silently as her body forms a stark, rigid form around him.

Pride sweeps through him, pleased with his work as he slows his pace, still moving slowly within her embrace, waiting until she returns to him despite the sweat running down his back now.

Pale blue eyes flutter open, dazed, content and she catches his, a frown creasing her brow a moment later.

‘Did you…?’

He shakes his head, cutting off her question, desperate to end his own pleasurable torment, but needing to know that she’s satisfied before he does. Her hands catch his jaw, the back of his skull, drawing him down to her as she seizes his lips in a lazy kiss, before she moves to his ear, suckling light at the lobe before whispering;

‘Let go. Please. Come for me.’

He surges at her words, the blood pounding in his ears and his cock returning full force and he ruts into her, hard, a handful of times before the he’s overwhelmed. In the distant, sober, reaches of his mind, he’s amazed at himself for having the presence of mind to pull out of her, emptying his release onto her soft belly as his muscles clench and seize.

Awareness creeps back to him sometime later, her hands in his hair as his breathing gradually eases, sweat cooling on overheated skin. Between them, he can feel his own seed sticky as it cools and he frowns making to pull away until her arms catch him, holding him in place against her. It’s uncharacteristically assertive and he glances up from the comfortable pillow of her bosom. There’s an aspect of strength in her afterglow, confidence born from peace and satisfaction and he grins lazily back at her as fingers comb through his hair.

He supposes at some point Cullen and Elizabeth will expect them to move, to return to the arms of their own loves, but for now, he’s quite content to bask in this new embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, big thanks to all you lovely people who have read so far, and especially to those who have kudos'd, commented and/or subscribed.


	14. Exceeding Expectations (NSFW CullenxElizabeth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Elizabeth take their turn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say thank you so much to everyone once again for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. I can't believe that we've hit over 200 kudos now, so I'm very flattered and will continue to try and keep you amused with smutty goodness.
> 
> Also I can still be found [here](http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, is anyone fancies saying hello.
> 
> As for the chapter...Enjoy!

They're still on the soft rug that dominates the floor of the inquisitor's chambers, Alistair and Artemis, breaths slowing in the minutes that follow their languid coupling. Limbs are still intertwined, porcelain and golden skin pressed together, Alistair's head resting against Artemis's chest, blissfully peaceful as consciousness returns to him.

Amber eyes are hazy as they flutter open, meeting Elizabeth's own gaze calmly, and he smiles warmly. Content and thankful as he looks at her, peaceful as he basks in his afterglow, hands stroking easily at Artemis's soft flesh as the woman's own hands ease through the pale red of his hair.  
It's strange to watch her husband in the arms of another, to watch him surge with her, to treat her body with the same reverence that he normally pays to her. She can't help the twinge of jealousy, watching them there, surprised by the oddly intimate nature of their joining, when she'd expected something of a rather more torrid nature. If she was honest, it stoked unease in her belly, watching Alistair relaxing into the other woman's embrace and she wondered if he found her more preferable, if her fuller curves and flesh were more appealing to him.

For the first time since she had suggested sharing their evening together, Elizabeth wondered if she'd made a grave mistake.

With worry courting her, she stood abruptly, vaguely aware of startled glances as she strides to the dining table. Her hands find the bottle of whiskey easily enough, pouring herself a generous glass and downing the golden liquor quickly. It burns as it hits her throat, sharp, and no matter how many times she's drunk the stuff, it never appeals to her, save for the warm tingling it leaves in her stomach and down her nerves.

She wonders if she should speak her mind, pull Alistair away and air her concerns. But she knows that he'll over react if she does, and as much as she loves having Alistair's undivided attention, it's not fair on him to do so, not here, not now. Not when she's the one who started this, convinced everyone in the room that they could all sleep together without any repercussions.

Licking a drop of whiskey from her lips, she turns back to them, catching Alistair's eyes, warmth and love and worry written there. Perhaps more so than any lust he could hold for another woman, and she smiles back, reassuring, as much for herself as for him, despite the way his arms are curled around Artemis. When he makes to rise, she shakes her head, watching confusion crease his face, indecision pulling before he eases back down beside the inquisitor's petite form. She's tiny in comparison to him, cradled against his broad, strong chest, and if it wasn't for the fact that she knew just how hard the woman could hit, she'd look worryingly fragile against him.

Pushing her loose her behind her shoulder, Elizabeth turns, making to lounge on the sofa, somehow becoming aware that there are eyes on her. She knows instantly that it's not Alistair. The gaze is too heavy on her back, and she turns slowly, looking over her shoulder to where the commander sits perched on his own sofa.

He's leaning forwards slightly, fingers interlocked as he studies her, golden waves askew from his recent exertions, though he still remains fully clothed. At some point he's tucked his length back inside his breeches, but still, she lets her eyes linger on the strip of skin and golden-brown curls exposed by the slight parting of his trousers, her cooled lust rekindling at the promise of what's hidden behind dark leather.

But it's his eyes that make the difference, stoking a light smolder into a blaze as they trek up the length of her body, halting when he meets her gaze. So dark, so intense, the warm gold of his irises so similar to Alistair's amber, but so different in the way he holds hers, strong and demanding where her husband almost always treats her so gently. His head cocks slightly as they hold each others stare, amused, perhaps, or challenging. But she's not some waif or innocent maiden to be bowled over by a simple look, no matter how effectively delivered and she breaks his gaze, feigning disinterest.

Let's see if the lion can truly hunt, she thinks, turning slowly and sinking onto the chaise longue once more. Any glances she gives him are just enough to let him know that she's playing a game now. She stretches on the furniture, lengthening her already tall figure, angling herself to make the most of her slight curves as best she can. A knee raised, hips cocked, hand tangled in her own hair as he stands abruptly, a quick glance to the lovers tangled on the floor before he's striding over to her. His movements are stunningly fluid, strong and graceful even beneath the layers of his clothing and she only wishes that he could be nude, to showcase that strength in all its glory, the overwhelming confidence he carries in his gait.

He's staggeringly handsome, and he knows it, no matter how modest he plays at being, his motions just as deliberate as her own, and she likes this game of cat and mouse, though she has no idea which is which. That in itself is rather appealing, to not know whether one was in control or not, but knowing there would be no losers either way.

He slows as he approaches, gaze still appraising but slower now, more intent, taking in the details of her lithe figure and she wills herself to lie still, to let him view her fully, to pretend that the scrutiny doesn't unnerve her as much as it does. It's clear though that his perusal of her is having it's effect on him too, the leather covering his groin beginning to stretch as he swells, the strip of skin visible between folds of leather widening. He pauses when he's but a few feet from her, hands moving swiftly to the hem of his shirt, tugging thin cotton off over his head in one smooth motion.

She's greeted by an expanse of pale golden skin, lean, taut muscles flexing as he moves towards her again, leaning over her. He braces an arm on the back of the sofa, bicep rippling as he leans his weight onto it, and she's knows what he's doing, that if she were anyone else she'd feel intimidated, cornered and shied by the breadth of his imposing body above her. But she didn't get her titles by being easily cowed, especially when she's dealt with larger men that meant her actual harm and she merely lifts an eyebrow at his display, an attempt to show him she's entirely unaffected by his manoeuvrings.

Well, mostly, she thinks, feeling that pleasant curl of lust flicker through her lower belly once more, unable to deny that the thrill of a challenge, the chase, is most appealing. Shifting slightly, she moves her weight, thighs tensing as she does and even that subtle movement draws his eyes down to where slim muscles flex. His attention flicks back to her face a moment later, scarred lips parted and she knows instinctively that he's about to make his move.

He pounces just as she surges upwards, hands moving faster than either of them can track and suddenly she's in his arms, his weight pinning her against the seat as her own arms coil around his svelte torso. His skin is almost feverishly hot, surprisingly silken beneath her spread fingers, lips wonderfully supple as they meet hers. His kiss is strange; demanding, attentive, assertive and she grips at his shoulders, drawing him closer, trying to claim him even as he fights to dominate her, pressing her back into the plush sofa.

She wonders how Alistair and Artemis managed to couple as they did, slow and curious, inquisitive hands and tender touches. How does one hold back against the raw excitement of a new partner, lust coursing hot and powerful through nerves and veins, desire compelling you to press onwards, to seek completion as soon as possible.

Cullen's lips part against hers, warm, smooth, save for the hard ridge of his scar, and she reminds herself that she must explore that slender line further. Later. For now she contents herself with pushing her tongue against his, tasting whiskey, her hands coiling in beautifully messed hair, curls between her fingers as he moves away from her mouth.

Heat trails along her skin as his tongue glides along her cheek, testing briefly at the savage scar that marks her face, and she flinches, uncomfortable at having such an old wound inspected. She remembers receiving it clearly, and for all Cullen's vigour, he seems to take the hint, moving away to nip at her neck instead. That's not to say his attentions ease any, teeth nipping at her throat, his hands gripping her waist, holding firmly as he teases harder, threatening to break skin. No doubt there willl be marks flourishing beneath his lips, a reminder of his less than gentlemanly handling to remain long after this is over.

But two can play at that, Elizabeth thinks, freeing her hands from his hair once more trailing down to his shoulders, nails scraping hard until his skin rises in red lines. It marks a contrast to his clean skin, save for the few scars she can see, and she means to make more, her fingertips digging into the firm muscles of his back as he frees her neck. If he's put off by her marking him, he doesn't show any signs of it, growling low in his throat as his hands seize on her chest. His thumbs press into her nipples, seemingly unconcerned that her breasts don't even fill his palms, and she arches, encouraging as his mouth slips lower, red marks blooming in his wake.

His speed, his eagerness surprises her as his mouth closes over a nipple, prompting a startled gasp from her, convinced that the man would be more controlled. But for all the game that they're playing is enjoyable, they both know the end goal and she squirms, letting out a low moan as the hand still on her nipple, pinches suddenly, callouses and friction sending more heat pooling into her loins. His teeth worry at her for a second and she digs her nails into his back once more, a warning to him even as he pulls his head away, golden eyes meeting her own once more. A fleeting question and she rolls her hips against his clothed groin in response.

Hands are under her back before she really knows what's going on, hoisting her so that the small of her back rests against the hard arm of the sofa. It digs into her as he presses her back and she opens her mouth to complain, only to have his seize her again, lips pressed hard into lips, tongue swiping against hers tangling, distracting. Not enough to distract her from the way his hands have closed on the backs of her thighs though, pushing, spreading and a bolt of arousal sings down into her nerves, turning her core molten. She can feel herself softening, growing warmer and wetter at his manhandling of her body, the way he holds her thighs apart as his torso meets hers. She presses her thighs back into his firm grip, eager to free herself, to wrap her legs about him as he devours her mouth. It seems he has other ideas though and she feels her eyebrows lift, surprised, disappointed when he pulls away.

His eyes meet hers, a smug smirk over his mouth as his hands slip to her backside, gripping and angling her hips upwards, towards him. It's in that split second that she knows what he means to do, his eyes falling to where she's most exposed and before she can say anything, he dives in, his tongue swiping once, long and heavy over the seam of her sex. She quivers beneath him, knowing she's lost the game now and completely unable to care, grunting inarticulately as his thumbs tease apart her outer lips.

It's a sight to behold, from even her point of view, the commander's golden curls bobbing back between her spread thighs. His aim is precise, tip of his tongue easing gently through her folds, top to bottom, testing, tasting and the view is utterly captivating as he closes his mouth completely over her. Within moments he launches his full assault on her sensitive flesh, nose buried in her carefully trimmed curls. His tongue flicks against her, fast, hard, enthusiastic, drawing circles over her pearl before sucking the tiny nub into his mouth, releasing her after a moment to trace her delicate folds before pulling away to repeat his process over and over. 

She's pulsing, twitching, with each flicker of his eager tongue, nipples ridiculously hard, standing pert and proud against the subtle curves of her chest. Under his assault her back arches unbearably, muscles aching as she pushes herself against his mouth. His hair is gloriously soft and smooth between her fingers and she clings to it, anchoring herself against the onslaught of heat building in her loins, gasping now with every throb of her walls. It almost hurts to be empty, feeling herself soft and wet, open to him, and yet he persists at his game, mouth pressed to her lips, anywhere and everywhere except for where she's aching now.

Frustrated, she growls, pushing against his head, urging him downwards and he pauses to look up at her, smirking, smug, his eyes alight with amusement and lust. His lips glisten with the evidence of her arousal, chin glossy and wet.

'Enjoying yourself, Elizabeth?'

It's the first time he's ever addressed her using her name, rather than one of her numerous titles, and she glares down at him, despite the tingling heat in her core, trying to look as regal as possible.

'You forget your place, commander.' She hisses, watching as his lips curl into a grin, enjoying the game as it returns.

'Oh, I'm fairly certain that I've found it, your majesty. It seems to be right,' he pauses, pulling one of his hands from where it holds he parted, tracing delicately over her engorged bud, 'here.'

She shudders underneath that finger, borderline overstimulated.

'But...perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps it's more like...here.' He drags his finger downwards, chuckling quietly, infuriatingly, as she twitches, his fingertip gliding over her skin until he finds her entrance, pushing lightly. He slides in with wonderful ease, and she clenches, rolling downwards against that single digit. It's nowhere near enough to satisfy her and he knows it, smirking still as she grinds against his hand. With painstakingly slow motions, he withdraws his finger, pressing another against it before easing the two back inside, eyes locked on hers the entire time. She refuses to break that contact even as her hips roll once more, mouth falling open as he crooks his fingers.

The pleasure is exquisite, heat rolling out from where his fingers press against her.

'Of course...if it's not to her majesty's liking, I'm sure I can...' he eases his fingers away, makes to pull out of her and she clenches down as hard as she can, stilling him, watching his eyebrows lift slightly in surprise at the vice like grip she has on him.

'Come now, Cullen,' she replies, her voice steady, despite the desperation in the way she seizes at his fingers, 'we both know that you're not a man to shirk his duties.'

'Duty?' he asks, an eyebrow quirked as he eases himself down once more, before shaking his head, his breath warm over her slick folds. 'Not duty, my lady. My pleasure.'

His tongue glides over her once again, slow and heavy, dipping briefly to meet his fingers before stroking upwards once more. It's with complete confidence that he begins to move in tandem, his fingers setting a fast pace, pumping in and out of her as his tongue swipes languorous over her swollen folds.

The attention has her writhing, pressing her sex to his welcoming mouth, breath leaving her in great pants now, as heat suffuses every inch of her skin, muscles tightening as she arches. She's certain that she's so wet she's leaving a puddle beneath her, fluids dripping from Cullen's sculpted chin, trailing down his arm and it's all she can do to gasp, to give a low moan to let him know just how much she's enjoying herself.

As if he doesn't know already, buried between the shining folds of her center, working his jaw and tongue as if he actually enjoys the taste of her salt. 

She casts her eyes down over him, watching him work, the way his shoulders flex as he moves, down the scarred plain of his broad back, to where leather trousers cling to a no doubt glorious backside, still concealed by his clothing. In a moment of urgency she needs to see him, to know that her new partner is enjoying himself as much as she is, and she weaves a hand back into his ruffled curls again, tugging gently.

He takes the hint easily, though not without a raised eyebrow, and she glances down as she pulls away, relieved and aroused to see the leather over his crotch stretched taut. Her hands move to him without thought, her mouth finding his, tasting herself on his lips and tongue as she hurries to unbuckle his belt, untying the laces below as quickly as she can as she devours his mouth. As soon as the material is loosened she slips her hand inside, hot hard flesh meeting her palm. He feels...different from Alistair, longer but perhaps not as thick, a faintly upward curve to him that she knows within a moment is going to reach wonderfully deeply into her. With her hand running up his length, squeezing at his purple head, he grunts heavily, bucking into her palm before pushing his body against hers, urging her back against the sofa's cushions while she turns her attention to tugging his clothing away, leaving him gloriously nude as he frees himself of his breeches.

There's no time, no chance to fully appreciate the sight of his revealed cock, a briefly glimpse of the impressive length all she gets to see as his weight pins her down and she wastes no time in spreading her legs, letting him settle between them, bringing his head beautifully in line with her. It's a surprise when he catches her mouth again, his kiss surprisingly sweet and gentle, and she responds in kind, understanding for a moment the gentle nature of this military shaped man.

It lasts but a second, delightful lips soft against hers and then he's pushing against her, breaching her fast and hard, opening her to him in a delicious single stroke until he's hilted inside her. She's not even sure what the noise she makes should be called, somewhere between a moan and a yowl, a gasp of air that rattles her vocal chords as it goes. He stills for a moment, wrapping arms around her, crushing her body to his, allowing them both to adjust. When she gives an experimental squeeze around his unfamiliar length, he lets loose.

For all that she's been anticipating this moment, his movement takes her by surprise, the sudden withdrawal before he buries himself inside her over and over again with a speed that takes her breath away. She's not used to being submissive, always in control, even with Alistair and it's strange to relinquish it to this man she's known for such a short time. And yet for all that it surprises her, she utterly revels in it, letting him dictate each stroke into her body, aware of what he's doing, working for her pleasure as much as his. She vows in future to give over to Alistair more, to let him dominate her, let him surprise her like this, utter bliss firing through her nerves with every thrust Cullen delivers.

She loses track of time in the way he moves with her, drawing her legs up higher, feeling him plunge deeper as his hands press to her back, holding her against him as she bucks and writhes feeling heat coiling tighter in her belly until she's overheating, threatening to burst as her entire body tingles. She comes in a flood of heat, every muscle clenching, her walls pulsing around him, wrenching his own climax from him. He buries his growl in her neck, teeth worrying her skin as she howls her own pleasure, nails leaving furrows in his skin as her entire body lets go.

It's the soft murmur of Alistair's voice the brings her back to her aching body, her limbs still coiled around Cullen's relaxed form atop her. She finds his gaze on her as soon as she opens her eyes and turns her head, amber that's bright with intrigue. The smile that crosses her face in response is unbidden, and he relaxes immediately at the sight of it, his shoulders lowering as his own familiar, beautiful smile graces his lips. He doesn't need to say anything, nor does she, understanding passing between them silently as he settles against the cushions on the floor again, falling into an easy sleep now that their excitement is over.

Above her, Cullen turns his head, no doubt looking to Artemis, their own silent conversation passing between them, and she purposely looks to the ceiling. Despite the fact that Cullen is still twitching inside her, there's something far too intimate passing between the two lovers for her to intrude upon and she holds still as he nods to his love and pulls himself from within her.

He exceeds her expectations once again, however, when he repositions himself next to her, a soft, almost shy kiss on her cheek when she's expecting him to leave her side. Instead, he reaches back, grabbing the blanket that's draped over the back of the sofa, his golden eyes darting to her, questioning. She almost laughs at that, amused by the notion that the two of them had made love with barely a hesitation, but simply lying in each others arms is something that needs permission. She supposes it is, when their partners lie on the floor nearby, Artemis reclining into Alistair's lax arms and she'd never thought she could be so pleased at seeing her husband with another woman. But there's a softness to the two of them that matches, just as there's a strength to herself and Cullen that their lovers don't often reveal. 

It's nice to find, she thinks, to see and to share and it's that thought that allows her to nod to the commander, to let him wrap the blanket around the two of them and drift away into a deeply satisfied sleep in each others arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, much appreciated, and as always, kudos, comments and concrit are greatly appreciated. Also, if I've made any mistakes, feel free to point them out as I no longer have a beta for this fic.
> 
> Until next time :)


	15. Seeing straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The foursome take a moment to catch their breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was intended as a short break from the smut and then rapidly turned into something more...well, more...
> 
> Your regularly scheduled smut will (probably) return with the next chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was always a strange thing to get used to the sensation of someone new lying next to you, to become familiar with the rhythm of their breathing, their scent and the touch of their skin. To be tangled in their arms, under the weight of their body brought a whole new level to that, Artemis thought, shifting under Alistair's bulky form. The man in question grumbled in response, disturbed from his sleep by her subtle movements, before settling back against her chest again, apparently unconcerned with moving.

She smiled at that. For now, she was content to let the king rest against her, learning his body as he did. Letting her hands rove, following the lines of his body; the curve of his spine, the hollow of his back, the stark shape of his hipbones. She had never given much thought to how different male bodies could be before, save for the obvious different statures between races. But here she was with a new man moulded to her as different from Cullen as she was from Elizabeth.

It made her wonder, did the men compare themselves to each other as she did to other women? She had always been jealous of so many different features; Elizabeth's long, slender legs, Cassandra's cheekbones, Vivienne's full lips and Josephine's almond eyes. Even Sera's waspish waist and Leiliana's delicate nose. She found it difficult to think that men would feel the same. But then she'd seen the way Alistair's eyes had flicked to Cullen, how his gaze hadn't been entirely lascivious, how there'd been a moment of uncertainty as he'd compared himself to the other man.

It was preposterous for him to feel that way, to compare himself to Cullen when he was just as attractive in his own regard. There was a lesson to be learned from that, she supposed, but she pushed it away for now. Now was a time for appreciating the body pressed against her, rather than worrying about her own insecurities.

Said body was wonderfully warm, for example, just the slightest layer of softness over stomach and hips that allowed her to nestle in. And where Cullen was cut, angular lines, Alistair's form was slightly rounded, heavier with muscle in his chest and arms, broader of shoulder and thicker in his waist and thighs. Not to say that the king was in poor shape. Far from it, his strength evident in the way those full muscles rippled under pale skin, his endurance leaving nothing to be desired.

Still, there was more to be explored yet. She had a feeling that they weren't finished with this interesting new scenario. She'd be eager to see if her new partner had a more dominating side to him, if all that carefully handled strength could fall to frantic rutting with the right persuasion. His attentions to her had been so eager, so considerate, something she was so grateful for. But now that her nerves had passed, she wanted to know how primal this man could be, see if he could throw his caution away and take her with all the force in those well-developed muscles.

But was that the kind of play he reserved for...

Artemis paused in her thoughts, eyes trailing up to her own partner, stretched out on the plush sofa; legs tangled with Elizabeth's as he spooned her, heads resting on his outstretched arm. She still wasn't sure how she felt about he and Alistair having a history together, and it seemed so strange for the two men who so obviously appreciate women to have eyes for each other as well. But then she was beginning to see Elizabeth with something other than just jealousy. Perhaps it wasn't so strange.

Her hands stilled as she looked to them, his face quiet and peaceful in his sleep for once, wondering how it would be to watch them together. In the pit of her stomach, something tingled, a quiet flare that she recognised as the awakening of lusts she hadn't previously considered. She decided though, that at the very least, she would try to watch these two beautiful men in their passions together, whenever that might come to be. And if she could watch Cullen and Elizabeth intertwine, there'd surely be no jealousy on her part for the other possibilities before them?

It had surprised her how much she had enjoyed watching them couple. Where she had been certain that at least some jealousy would rear its head, it had been oddly arousing to watch Cullen laying claim to his queen. The woman in question had reacted so fiercely, challenging him constantly, until he'd pinned her down with his head between her legs. 

And even that had been arousing, to watch Elizabeth's reactions, how she had arched and writhed under Cullen's mouth, unafraid to give voice to her pleasure. A sound which had shot to her own core, thrumming whenever the warden had gasped or moaned or wailed with delight. And to watch Cullen ploughing in and out of her, his shaft glistening with her, had given her an oddly devious sense of second hand pride at her lover's prowess.

Beneath that pride though, she knew there was something else stirring. Her own curiosity at what it would be like to be with another woman niggled at her, frightening but intriguing. Would Elizabeth react to her though? Would she cry out as she had with Cullen or Alistair? Did she herself even have the knowledge or courage to go through with it?

In all honesty, she didn't know. Not yet. But this was all about learning, she supposed, and she trusted everyone present that if she decided not to go through with it, there would be no pressure to.

She wondered too if Elizabeth felt the same. To her knowledge, the other woman was no more experienced in such things than she herself was. And although Cullen had mentioned that 'all combinations' as he had put it, were a possibility, she had assumed the woman had only really been interested in sleeping with Cullen. Her own laying with Alistair was just a price the woman had to pay to achieve that. But then, the queen hadn't restricted her flirtations to just Cullen. She herself had been on the receiving end of such attention. It was oddly flattering, to think that someone so beautiful as her could be attracted to someone as plain as herself. Or was she playing her, making her think she was attracted to her to get her way?

The thought made her frown, and she pushed it away, unsettled by the notion. Elizabeth may not have been the politest she could have been when they had met, but she had never seemed to deceive her. Unless she had been planning this for much longer than she was letting on, her intentions seemed straight forwards enough.

A soft sigh from the level of her chest drew her attention back to her present situation, and she looked down, watching as Alistair awakened. Amber eyes blinked up at her, unfocused for a moment as consciousness drifted back to him, the gradual sharpening of his gaze matched with the slow, quiet smile that crosses his lips as he remembers. Pink blooms onto his cheeks a moment later, his head withdrawing from the pillow of her bust, an embarrassed, self-mocking smile transforming the gentle curve of his mouth.

'So...I uh...guess you'll be wanting those back at some point?' he asks, his tone flustered. The king is oddly shy now he's slept on their actions, processed the events of a few hours ago, and Artemis wonders if he regrets it. Though he can't help himself from stealing another glance at her chest.

She chuckles lightly.

'Well, as flattering as your attentions are, it might well cause a stir if we're seen out in public with your head buried between my...' she pauses, feeling her own blush crawling onto her face, destroying the sultry air she'd been attempting, '...unmentionables?'

He grins broadly at that, a glint in his eye once more.

'Oh, I certainly wouldn't call them that.'

'And what would you call them?'

'You mean, other than glorious? I thought pinky and perky might be fitting.'

She feels her jaw drop, her mind searching desperately for some witty comeback as he grins up at her, enjoying being on the other side of this gentle goading. She never manages to find a response, however, her thoughts interrupted by Elizabeth's sleep roughened voice;

'Ever the charmer, aren't you dear?'

Alistair's head snaps up at the sound of his wife's voice, alert, uncertainty flashing across his face as he twists in her arms to look at his queen. The heaviness to her voice makes it difficult to tell whether the comment is just a jest, or a sarcastic jibe, and Artemis feels her own heart seize a little, wondering if the moment of peace is ruined.

' 'Lis...I...'

'Hush, Alistair, I'm teasing.' Elizabeth soothes, and Artemis risks a peek over one of Alistair's broad shoulders to the woman.

Except that her attention doesn't fall on Elizabeth. Not for long, anyway, instead shifting to Cullen as he lets out a loud moan, still caught in sleep and beginning to thrash. 

She's clambering to his side in seconds, distantly aware of Elizabeth startling, moving away from him as she trips over Alistair to reach Cullen. She's seen this before, too many times. How his peaceful rest can become tumultuous without warning, sweat breaking out over his skin and she grips his hand, watching his brow furrow.

His chest heaves, tremors across his muscles as he mumbles, incoherent, twisting in the blankets now, his grip tightening on hers. 

Soft whispers are all she can offer as she strokes his cheek, gentle encouragements she hopes will either wake him from his nightmare or ease him back into quieter sleep once more.

'Artemis.'

The voice prompts her to look up, and she finds Alistair standing a few feet away, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of Cullen's distress. Elizabeth hovers beside him, brow furrowed, concern clear in the downward curve of her lips

'Is he...' Alistair continues before pausing, frowning, '...is there anything we can do?'

Their concern is touching, the queen more controlled in her expressions but clearly thinking the same as Alistair as she regards her most recent lover, and Artemis wishes that there was something they could do. In the same way she wished there was something she could do, feeling helpless to do anything but hold his hand and hope, as always, that he would come out of his nightmare intact.

She shakes her head slowly, letting her gaze drift back to her partner, still trembling in the clutches of his dream.

'You look as though this isn't an unusual occurrence.' Elizabeth states, edging closer, and as much as there's concern in her voice, Artemis can hear the curiosity beneath. 

It doesn't feel right to tell them the cause of it, of Cullen's ongoing battle with his lyrium withdrawal. He'd kept his struggles quiet for so long, from everyone other than herself and Cassandra, bearing his burden as best he could on his own. Even now, over a year on, he rarely admitted the full extent of his suffering to her when caught in a bout of withdrawal, never wanting to burden or worry anyone over himself.

But how he deserved to be worried over, she had often thought, and looking up now at the concerned faces of their lovers, new and old, she wondered if this would make him understand that.

'Is it...what happened at the circle that troubles him?'

Elizabeth's question is tentative, and Artemis knows her surprise must be written on her face when she meets the woman's storm blue eyes, an understanding smile on the queen's lips.

'I remember meeting him there...he'd been through so much, especially for someone so young at the time. I wondered if it had,' she pauses, thinking about her words carefully, 'left its mark. So to speak.'

It's not all of the issue, but it's enough, and she glances to Cullen again, hoping that when he wakes, he'll understand. Elizabeth has seen him, for however short a time, at one of the lowest points in his life, and they've both been through enough hardship in their lives to know what it means to suffer. Perhaps enough to make him understand that there's no shame in his suffering, no reason to hide it from those who care about him.

'Yes, and no.' She replies at some length 'The nightmares he has are often about what happened at the tower, though sometimes it's Kirkwall during the mage uprising.'

'Well anyone would have nightmares after either of those on their own, never mind living through both.' Alistair murmurs, though it's clear his attention is focused on Cullen, his idle agreement more of a force of habit than having any real meaning. It's a fair point though, and anyone could easily agree that they were the sole cause of his restless nights. But she's already admitted there's more to it, and if this act of sharing might help him, then she'll gladly deal with whatever anger it might prompt from him.

'...It's not the only cause though,' she continues, heart leaden in her chest as she looks to the others, 'Cullen...wouldn't want me to tell you this. He's kept it quiet from everyone else but...well, I'm hoping telling you will help him.'

Elizabeth nods calmly, though the statement prompts Alistair to look up from Cullen's agonised face, worry present once more.

'Since Cullen left the templars to join the Inquisition's cause, he's been trying to break his addiction to lyrium. The nightmares,' she pauses, a sigh passing between her lips unbidden, 'are a side effect of his withdrawal.'

There's a heavy silence, stunned perhaps, or uncomfortable, she's not sure under the weight of an admission that wasn't hers to give.

'But...that could kill him,' Alistair splutters after a moment, eyebrows knitted, '...he should be dead already, after this long...'

'Cassandra believes that Cullen has the strength to do this. She supported him from the moment he announced his intentions to her, shortly after he left the templars. I believe she's right. I believe in him. If anyone can do this, it's Cullen.'

'You're telling me he's battling a lyrium addiction through willpower alone?!' 

Alistair's raised voice prompts a louder groan from Cullen, his hand tightening on hers and she grips back steadily, ignoring the ache in her hand as she shoots a murderous look to the king. He's not for backing down though, ire in his voice as he addresses her;

'How can you let him do this?'

She lifts an eyebrow at that, half surprised herself that she remains calm at that loaded question, the suggestion she was failing the man she loved.

'Because I believe in him and his right to die either free of lyrium, or trying to free himself. It is his decision, not mine. I will not dissuade him from his choice, no matter what it costs him. I would keep him safe, Alistair, but he needs to do this. For himself, for those templars looking to him for hope that there is a way out.'

The king pauses, lips set into a grim line as he glances between her and Cullen. His attention is only broken when Elizabeth's hand slides into his, drawing his gaze to her.

'Alistair, I understand your concern, we all do. But Artemis is right in this. If it is his choice, then we must respect that. Better to try and risk than to live shackled and afraid of what will certainly happen if he would continue to take it.'

She's grateful to the queen for her intervention, pleased that the older woman can see her's and Cullen's, side of it. But still Alistair looks unconvinced, his eyes darting between them now.

'But if he...'

'He's strong, Alistair, body and mind and will. It belittles him to believe otherwise. And we must all take risks to achieve something more. If I didn't believe so, I wouldn't have left your side to search for a cure, but I felt I must for a chance to give us a future.'

His shoulders fall, deflated, shame marring strong features, the delicate lines around his eyes and mouth forming deeper. He seems to age by years in just a few seconds and despite her anger at his presumptuous comments, she understands. He's no stranger to watching as the people he cares for suffer, and being unable to do anything to help is near unbearable. She's had the same feeling, night after night, clinging to his hand and whispering support to him, aiding him as best she can through his terrors, though she knows that it has little effect.

Cullen always seemed grateful for it though, always thanking her and smiling when his mind has recovered, even when they both know that the act soothes her more than it does him.

It's that thought alone that prompts her to hold out her hand to Alistair, aware that his anger and frustrations are aimed at his helplessness, not her inadequacy, regardless of the words he's spoken.

Uncertainty sparks through his eyes as he looks at her outstretched hand, confusion warring with want before he takes it, skin sliding gentle over her palm. When his fingers have closed about hers, she tugs, coaxing him down and forwards until he's kneeling beside her, his knee brushing her thigh, gaze still uneasy. 

She doesn't see the moment that realisation dawns on his face, too busy untangling her fingers from Cullen's desperate grip. With the hand that still holds the king's, she guides him to take Cullen's, still trembling and twitching, as if searching for the grip on the waking world that he's lost. 

It's an odd sensation to watch as Cullen's fingers seize on Alistair's, a mixture of discomfort – unused to seeing two men engaged in an intimate gesture, but wanting to accept it – and satisfaction, witnessing some of the tension on their faces ease at the contact. But it's enough, seeing Cullen grip at Alistair's hand, the other man setting to soothing him as she had without prompting, though he pauses, looking at her, a protestation on his lips that she hushes.

'He'll wake soon, he always does when he's dreaming like this. He needs someone to be with him when he wakes up.'

'But why me? You're his partner, Artemis. Whatever Cullen and I were...you're the one he's sharing his life with now. You should be the one he wakes to.'

She frowns at that, the worry in his eyes, both for his fitfully sleeping friend and himself, his lack of belief in his abilities, in his value once more.

'He needs someone who cares, Alistair. And besides, I always make his favourite tea to quiet his nerves after he's woken. If you stay with him I can brew it now, so it's ready when he wakes up.'

'That's terribly practical of you,' he smiles, mouth drawn into a hard, thin line, and with that expression that she knows that he's aware of the truth, that the act is for him, '...I'm sure he'll appreciate such thoughtfulness.'

'I'm sure he will.' She replies before pulling away, pressing a gentle kiss to Cullen's damp forehead. It takes all of her willpower to leave him there, clutched in his nightmares, setting her jaw as she shrugs on a dressing gown, becoming aware of her nudity. 

Modesty restored, she moves to the other side of the room. Since his move into her chambers, she's always kept a stock of teas on the writing desk, fresh water in a lidded ewer that's replaced every morning and evening standing by the assortment of blends. She's always liked the aesthetic of it, jars of different coloured leaves, little silver dishes of sugar and tiny pots of honey, a delicate contrast to the black iron kettle and there's a calming aspect to the routine of setting the water to boil in the small fire in the hearth. It stills her as she falls into it, so much so that she doesn't notice footsteps behind her.

Or perhaps that's just Elizabeth's skills presenting themselves once more.

'Can I be of any assistance, Artemis?'

Despite the woman's hushed tones, her voice startles her, and she jerks, almost spilling the tea leaves she's spooning into the tea pot. Setting the spoon down, she turns.

'My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you.' 

'No, it's fine I'm...always a little unsettled when Cullen has his bad nights.' She admits, finding darker blue eyes. She's coming to recognise the gleam in her eyes, curiosity mixed with concern, and it's strange to think it's aimed at her now, given their poor start.

'I admit I am...not particularly proficient when it comes to preparing food and drink, but if I can aid you, please don't hesitate to let me know.'

'It's fine,' she shakes her head, noting distantly that the woman has wrapped herself in a soft fur, 'It's leaf water after all. It doesn't take much skill to prepare.'

'And yet it's a skill that's always eluded me.' Elizabeth continues, and Artemis finds herself grateful for the conversation, distracting her from her concerns. 'I can fletch an arrow, string a bow and hone a dagger to such a fine edge that you can almost wound your enemies by showing it to them. But more domestic abilities I've never mastered.'

'That's what servants are for though, right?' she jokes, setting out a number of delicate teacups.

'True enough,' Elizabeth smiles faintly at her, 'But I've always thought there was something intrinsically...womanly, about being able to do such things. Men rarely have the finesse required to perform such tasks. That's why they need wives, is it not? And yet here I am, no more able to bake a cheesecake than I am to prepare hot leaf water.' 

'Well, you don't always have to bake cheesecake. I have heard that it can be prepared through chilling, as much as baking.'

'You make my point for me,' she jokes, settling a slim hip against the edge of the writing desk, 'even Alistair was better at cooking than I was when we were travelling during the blight. I'm uncertain how I didn't perish from malnutrition on my search for the cure.'

She smiles again at the queen, her attempt at lightening her mood, excusing herself to fetch the kettle and setting the tea leaves to steep. With that task complete, she finds herself suddenly at a loss for something to do, nothing to distract her as she waits for the infusion to be ready and her eyes stray to the back of the sofa where Cullen lies.

'It's very kind of you, to do that for Alistair.' Elizabeth comments once more when the silence has stretched on for more than is comfortable, broken only by Cullen's mutterings and groans.

Artemis meets her eyes once more, unable to find a response.

'I'm not sure if our situations were reversed that I could be as selfless.'

'I...I haven't...' she begins, faltering when she finds she doesn't know what to say. 

'Your compassion is your strength, Artemis. Whether you believe you're Andraste's herald or not, I believe she could not have chosen better.'

'I...thank you. It...'

Her words are interrupted, a cry from the sofa distracting her and she sets aside what she's doing, hurrying over to Cullen and Alistair. The sight that greets her is not what she expected. 

When Cullen woke to her after a nightmare, he was usually calm within a few moments, eager to nestle into her arms for comfort. And yet here he was with Alistair, pressed back into the sofa, putting as much distance between him and the other man as possible. Droplets of sweat rolled down his temples, eyes wide as he stared at the flustered king.

'Cullen?'

His head snaps around at the sound of her voice, meeting her gaze, guilt breaking the contact a moment later. He doesn't seem to know where to look, hands gripping white knuckled at the blanket he's tangled in, his chest heaving with uneven breaths.

It's clear he's addled, no doubt lingering effects of the nightmare and withdrawal, but she's never seen him react like this before, more agitated at her presence now, unable to look at either herself or Alistair and she reaches for him, her palm finding a clammy shoulder.

'Cullen, it's alright.' She soothes, but she can't miss the way he flinches at her touch, his head low between his shoulders. 'It was just a nightmare, you're safe.'

He shakes his head rapidly now, fingers gripping at blonde curls, caught between her and Alistair, his mind still not caught up with the waking world. Over his shoulder, she finds Alistair's gaze, uncertain, just as guilt wracked as if he could have caused this somehow, eyes pleading for an answer.

'It's fine Cullen, it's just the lyrium, you'll be alright in a moment.' She keeps her eyes on Alistair as she speaks, trying to explain to him what's happening without taking her attention from her lover. He seems to understand, though the worry remains in his eyes, and he moves back, allowing her room to round the chair and settle next to her lover.

Her hand finds his shoulder again, squeezing gently, urging him to look at her. When he finally lifts his head from his hands to meet her gaze again, she knows something isn't right, the fear in his eyes more real than that which usually lingers.

'Cullen?'

There's worry in her own voice now, and she swallows thickly, trying to push it away, to be reassuring as lost eyes cling to hers.

'I...,' he stumbles on the word, glancing to Alistair who's retreated to the other sofa now, before back to her. 'I...I'm sorry.' he eventually manages, his breathing laboured.

'Sorry? For what?'

'They made me....they looked like...I could not...'

He looks away again, and no matter how much she tries to meet his eyes, he keeps his head turned, doesn't respond when she takes his hand. He swallows thickly, his hand tensing beneath hers and she knows he's steeling himself to answer her question.

'My...desires. The demons...they knew, they always know. They looked like you and Alistair and Elizabeth. And I wanted it, Andraste preserve me but they knew all my perversions.'

'Demons? You dreamt of desire demons?'

He nods briefly before continuing, voice muffled as he hides his face in his hands once more.

'They...we. We spent the evening together...the four of us. I watched you and Alistair together and I was so... I enjoyed it. Maker's breath, I...I got so hard seeing you with him.'

A bolt of realisation strikes her as he speaks, describing the events that had occurred not long ago and she chances a look to Alistair, finding the same confusion on his face that she feels.

'And when you...you and he had...finished,' he swallows again, face burning red as he puts words to what he believes to be a dream, 'I...I went to Elizabeth and we...'

His head lifts suddenly, and he meets her gaze, guilt and shame twisting his face.

'What kind of man wants to watch his beloved like that? What kind of...deviant wishes to lie with another woman when everything he needs is right in front of him?'

His hand lifts from hers for a moment, reaching for her face before he clearly thinks better of it, dropping it back into his lap, turning away again. It's only her hand, reaching to cup his chin gently and drawing him back to her that stops his retreat into himself, and she shuffles nearer, thigh pressing against his as she urges him to look at her.

'Cullen...we discussed this before. Do you remember what I said?'

He pauses, frowning, thinking, eyes wary as if he doesn't trust that it's really her.

'You...you agreed to...try.'

'And when did we have that conversation?'

'It was...days, perhaps? But that doesn't seem right. You and the queen, you weren't getting along. You wouldn't... it could only be my desires to...'

'Breathe, Cullen,' she interrupts his stammering gently, 'go back. To that conversation, what happened, how did we get there?'

Golden eyes close, his brow furrowing as he thinks, sifting through memories.

'We...went riding. Alistair fell after we raced.'

'So he did. Do you remember the healer's words?'

'Mild concussion perhaps, he needed stitches in his scalp.' 

That prompts him to glance over to the other sofa, where Alistair sits, wide eyed and obviously uncomfortable now. A shy smile crosses the king's face for a second, his own attempt at reassurance, though he refuses to engage them further.

'Alistair...would you mind showing us?'

Uncertainty crosses his face once again before Alistair nods, wrapping some slip of material around his waist as he does and settling on the floor in front of them, presenting his back. The laceration is hidden beneath a tuft of hair that doesn't sit quite right with the hair around it, making it easy enough to find, and she brushes soft copper strands aside gently to reveal thick black stitches.

At that, Cullen leans forwards slightly, eyes focusing on the wound, a tentative finger tracing the sutures. He pulls away instantly at Alistair' s pained hiss.

'That...happened then. The ride, what we spoke of...our...' he gestures to the room around them, unable to give voice to their previous activities.

'It was no dream, Cullen,' she urges, taking his hand, 'Those weren't desire demons but...the real thing. Why else is his majesty sitting naked in our chambers?'

There's a gentle tone of mirth to her voice now, encouraging him to see that the situation is so bizzare, yet plausible, his mind couldn't possibly have made it up.

Her partner nods for a moment, agreeing, before his brow creases again. Clearly he feels he's found another way to prove her wrong.

'I...but...if it wasn't a dream, then the queen...'

'Is standing behind you.' She explains quickly, gesturing to the woman who's come to stand near the sofa. There's a cup of tea in her hand, and she passes it to Cullen.

'I believe Artemis said this may help.' Elizabeth offers, before retreating, rounding the sofa to join her husband and sharing the soft fur she wears with him. They move away, to the other sofa, giving them room to speak more privately.

Cullen blinks for a moment, wary, his eyes casting over the room and the people about him as if searching for some tell. There's none, judging by the way he drops his gaze to the tea, sniffing at it briefly before taking a sip. Within a few moments his face contorts, nose wrinkling as he looks down to the tea, then back up to the queen before swallowing reluctantly.

'Well...that's...an unmistakable flavour.' He murmurs, clearly trying to remain polite and Artemis takes the tea from his hands and takes her own sip.

It's utterly vile, a strong bitter taste that she struggles to cope with, over steeped and under sweetened. Elizabeth hadn't lied when she said she had no culinary inclinations and for all the seriousness of their situation, she can't help but giggle. The notion that Elizabeth's tea was so vile as to shock Cullen out of his haze was too much and she turns her head, stifling her laugh into Cullen's shoulder.

'I...thank you, for the tea, Elizabeth. It's...done the job.'

At Cullen's paltry attempt at diplomacy, Elizabeth sighs melodramatically, gazing forlornly into the distance.

'Alas,' she murmurs, 'my tea making efforts are stymied once more. I hang my head in shame at such failure.'

There's a sudden guffaw from Alistair at his wife's words, a clear indication that she's gently mocking herself, and any worry Artemis had held over offending her dissipated, allowing her to laugh openly at the utter absurdity of it. Besides her, Cullen chuckles, weak but real enough, still shaken by his nightmares but seemingly returned to his mind in full and he leans into her as they laugh, comforted by her presence, the laughter rocking his body gently.

It's enough to reassure her that he'll be fine and Artemis kisses gently at his temple, wiping away the dampness that's accumulated on his skin. 

'Better?' she asks quietly, and he nods before she takes the cup of stewed tea from between his palms. 'I'll get you a fresh cup.'

With Cullen settled once more she moves back to the writing desk to attempt to salvage what she can from the teapot. Alistair and Elizabeth move to join Cullen as she vacates the seat, Elizabeth perching on the arm of the sofa as Alistair plops down next to Cullen and she's watches quietly, surprised to see how at ease her partner is with his proximity.

It made sense, of course, the men were hardly strangers to each other, but as much as she's aware of their previous relationship, and her own curiosity towards it, it's strange to see it before her. Elizabeth keeps her distance, watching quietly as Alistair rests his hand on Cullen's shoulder, head cocked as he inquires about his well being. She can't hear what he says, but his expression always says as much as his words, eyes soft and concerned, lips parted slightly as he nods, smiles gently at his friend. A moment later and he looks away, smiling, shaking his head before looking back to him. His smile is still free and easy before he stands and moves away to where piles of clothes lie on the floor. 

Confusion blooms and Artemis purses her lips as she works, diluting tea with milk and honey quickly, watching still as Elizabeth and Alistair withdraw to dress. She had expected them to stay longer, but under the circumstances their actions make sense. Even if Cullen has recovered from the worst, he'll need to rest fully until morning now, and it would cause a scandal if they were seen leaving in the morning. Better they slip away under the cover of darkness, when they can claim nothing more occurred than drinks that lasted longer than they expected.

What surprises her more is the part of her that wishes for them to stay. As much as the evening has been a strange, sometimes tense, affair, she couldn't say that she hadn't enjoyed it. And she couldn't deny that she wanted more, to see just where such an arrangement could take them.

With the tea in her hand cooling, she crosses back to Cullen, handing him the tea. He takes it readily, a large sip to steady the slight tremors in his hands. Across from them, and their guests have finished dressing, Elizabeth carefully brushing Alistair's hair into place, ignoring her own loose coils that bounce at her waist.

'We can't tempt you to stay longer?' Artemis inquires, though they all know the answer.

'Best not. I suspect that we all need our rest after such an...eventful evening,' Elizabeth answers smoothly as Alistair swings his cloak into place over his shoulders, 'And our aides will more than likely be wondering where we are. It wouldn't do any good to arouse suspicions.'

'There's been quite enough arousing this evening as it is,' Alistair quips and Elizabeth rolls her eyes briefly, 'but we thank you for the offer, Artemis.'

'You would of course be welcome to return to...continue.' Cullen offers quickly.

It was the same sentiment that Artemis was intending to speak herself, though it surprises her that he offers it so freely. His eyes turn to her a moment later, realising, questioning and she nods, taking his hand.

'More than welcome.' She adds.

A wide smile breaks over Alistair's face even as his cheeks redden, Elizabeth seeming pleased in her own quietly refined manner.

'We...may well take you up on that,' the king replies, 'at any rate we should...' he gestures to the stairs and Artemis nods, getting to her feet to see their guests out. Cullen stands with her, throwing on his shirt and breeches, accompanying them to the top of the stairs where they pause.

There's a moment of hesitation, none of them quite sure of the etiquette under such circumstances, even Elizabeth looking somewhat lost. It's Alistair, as always, who breaks the quiet tension, stepping forwards to pull her into a hug and she laughs quietly as thick arms fold about her briefly, a kiss pressed to her cheek. When he steps back, Elizabeth smiles lightly, though she makes no move to repeat the motion.

She understands. For all that their relationship has improved leaps and bounds in the past few days, they're not ready for more contact than is necessary just yet and so she returns the smile even as Alistair leans in to Cullen. Hands clasp, Alistair reaching out to grip Cullen's shoulder once more, smiling warmly, an expression that Cullen returns as Alistair murmurs something into the other man's ear.

Whatever he says causes Cullen's smile to falter for a split second.

Before she can do or say anything to reassure him, he's moved towards the other man, hand catching the back of his neck and pulling him close. Whether it's the fading rush of endorphins, Cullen's own lingering upset, or the alcohol lingering in his blood, there's clearly something that prompts him to shuffle closer to the taller man.

It's when Alistair doesn't recoil that he moves suddenly, compelled by some surge of emotion and Artemis feels her own breath catch as their lips meet.

It's nothing like she ever would have imagined to watch the moment of intimacy, feeling like she's intruding despite the fact Cullen is well aware of her presence. It lasts only a few seconds, but it's enough, sufficient time for any misgivings to pass. Where she had feared that she would be reviled by the sight of the two of them, it's oddly comforting to find that there's only pleasure in seeing the two men at ease together. Well...and maybe the tiniest hint of jealousy.

They part quickly enough, stepping away from each other, cheeks red on both of them and Cullen reaches up to rub at his neck, glancing to her. His body language screams that he's expecting admonishment, oddly defensive, fearing reproach, but she can only find it in herself to reach up to the hand at his neck, tugging it away to hold it in hers. He needn't fear her reprimanding him, not for being honest about his affections.

'I...ah,' Alistair clears his throat, grinning bashfully as Elizabeth takes his hand, seemingly unaffected by the men's sudden display. 'I...guess that's goodnight from us then.'

She smiles back calmly. They all know that it had been her reaction that they'd been anticipating, waiting to see just how far she was willing to take this arrangement. But she had surprised even herself this evening, much to her delight. 

'Yes, it's been a most pleasant evening,' Elizabeth smiles, 'we'll let you rest and see you in the morning for our appointment?'

'Appointment?' she asks, confused, wondering if they meant to recommence with the arrangement so soon.

'Our discussion about the Inquisition's continued role in Ferelden. We...never finished.'

'Ah yes, of course. I'd forgotten about that with...everything.'

'I suspect we all did.' Cullen agrees mildly, eyes flicking from face to face, his hand still holding hers.

'Then we'll see you in the morning.' Elizabeth concludes, and with a nod from Alistair they turn and leave, though not without a few more glances that tell of longing.

The door closes behind them with a heavy thud, and Artemis lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

'Are you well?' Cullen asks tentatively, concern in his gaze.

'More well than I can say,' she grins back, 'this has turned out to be...somewhat insightful.'

'And...Alistair and I...it did not...bother you?'

She shakes her head, knowing how much he's been fearing this moment.

'If anything, I think I'd like to see more of that.'

Cullen's dark eyebrows lift in surprise before his lip curves, a smug smirk present once more as his eyes darken.

'Is that so?'

'Very much so. But...they are right. We should rest for now. I can't wait to see what they have planned next.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading, kudos'ing, commenting and any other pleasant 'ings', always appreciated :)
> 
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> 
> Still [ here ](http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com) at tumblr if anyone wants to say hi :)


	16. Rediscovery (NSFW - Cullen x Alistair)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decade on since their last dalliance, and the boys finally get to reconnect, under the watchful eyes of their ladies, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in this chapter, I've been struggling to get it to feel natural, along with trying to improve my writing (which isn't going well), but hopefully this will still be enjoyable.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

He's aching all over. Just…everywhere. From the pull across his shoulders to the tension down his thighs that threatened to cramp…it all hurt. The telltale signs of the previous night's exertions. Or his age, reminding him once again of how time ticks on. Not that Alistair was an old man. Not yet. But he couldn't deny, as he stretched tight muscles and blinked against the morning's light, that it definitely took longer to recover from any sort of exercise these days. The thoughts were less than comforting and he grimaced as he pulled himself upright, looking down at his wife.

Judging from the fact that Elizabeth was still deep in her slumber, despite his stirring, she was feeling the effects of last night's activities as well. He paused, watching her as she slept, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, her hand curled into the soft blankets, the rich red waves of her hair spread across pillows. The smattering of small purple marks across her shoulder, Cullen's handiwork.

With a grin, he reaches out, fingers skimming against the dark spots, vivid memories of the night before playing before his eyes.

It had been so strange to watch her in another man's arms, the way they had tussled, grappling for control before she had relented, submitting to the commander's skilled mouth. The sight alone, of her and Cullen entangled, had rendered him hard despite having coupled with Artemis only shortly before. But the noises they had made…if he'd had the energy, he would have joined in, perhaps taken Cullen in his mouth as he'd pleasured Elizabeth.

He hadn't realised just how much he could enjoy watching his wife submit to someone else. Or how different it could be to lay with another woman, to feel her flesh moulding against his, her reactions so restrained; he'd been as considerate as he could, paid attention to her quiet responses, given her as much pleasure as his skill would allow. But he'd wanted to hear her moan, to call his name as she arched against him. If by some chance they would lie together again before he returned home, he'd vow to have her moaning for him.

But first…first there was the matter of Cullen.

The kiss they had shared last night had only been brief, but it had spoken of so many things – of so much want on both their parts. It had been hard to walk away after that, and Elizabeth hadn't helped. As soon as the door had closed behind them she had pressed in close against him as they walked back to their suite, whispering into his ear. He'd known for sometime that she wanted to see him and Cullen, that it was a topic that got her flustered, but he hadn't realised the extent to which it ran. Not until she had described, in detail, just what she wanted to see them do to each other.

He shakes his head, smirking to himself, intending to get out of bed when a hand shoots to his wrist, holding him firmly in place.

'I hope you weren't planning on getting up anytime soon,' Elizabeth murmurs, voice heavy with sleep and he pauses once more.

She has a standard routine every morning; a distinct set of motions that signalled her awakening; a long, stifled yawn, an arching of her back and shoulders, before blue eyes opened. He loved that moment, wanted to be there for it each day, when the sleep clouded haze suddenly gave way to her keen gaze, alert and aware once more.

'Is that a request or an order, my love?'

Her own smirk manifests at that, a devious upward slant to the corner of her lips.

'Whichever is required to keep you next to me for longer.'

Hands wrap around his neck, tugging him down and he eases into her embrace, cushioned by the subtle softness of her form.

'As wonderful as that sounds, I think we have a meeting to go to.'

'We do... but I'm fairly certain that if Cullen and Artemis feel the same way as I do this morning, they won't be there on time either.'

'You too then?'

'It's been sometime since I've been this sore. Not since that first night after I came back from my travels, at least.'

Her lifted eyebrow, coy and smug, only served to reinforce her point, reminding him of the way they had tangled under the sheets of their marital bed, as fervent as the day they had married.

'Ah-hah, well yes, but…I'm not sure I...'

'Need a little more recharging before we go at it again, hmm?'

A hot blush springs to his cheeks.

'Don't worry…I'll let you save your energy for the commander.'

The comment rings strange in his ears, and Alistair feels the frown form on his face before he really registers that it's there, words tumbling from his mouth.

'Are you sure that's something you want?'

'I thought I'd made my thoughts on the subject rather clear last night.'

'Well yes but…it's different you know? Imagining it and actually seeing it…I wouldn't want...'

A kiss pressed to his lips quietens him, making him melt into her affection once again as her arms coil around him.

'I'm certain. And I know you want it as well. I wouldn't deny you that after I've experienced what he has to offer.'

A soft huff and he yields, nodding, pressing against her chest.

'Well…best I rest up a bit more if I have a show to put on later, hmm?'

Elizabeth laughs at that, body rocking with the gentle motions and he smiles back, comforted by her, as always.

'Just not too long. We wouldn't want to keep them waiting.'  
–

The meeting wasn't progressing well. Not in terms of actually discussing what needed to be discussed, anyway.

An hour or so in and Alistair finds himself struggling to hold back a sighs of boredom as they attempted to hash out details that – quite frankly - he doesn't care about. Not right now, anyway. Not when standing in a room with Artemis and Cullen, not with the tension between them thick in the air.

It's been apparent the minute the door closed behind them, signaling the beginning of the meeting. The conversation was stilted and the inquiries into their well-being were followed by awkward small talk - how they slept, their breakfast, the schedule of duties for the day. When preliminary conversation starters yielded nothing but further silence, they progressed to the topic at hand, hopeful that work would at least give them something to talk about. Or at least, something to focus on, other than the carnal ideas that were dominating everyone's thoughts.

Alistair couldn't help but let his eyes stray to Artemis every so often, hoping that he wasn't leering, but the dress she had chosen for that day clung to her hips, the light material swaying with every slight motion. It was entrancing, as if the dress had a life of its own that was only encouraged by her movements.

And then his gaze slides to Cullen, standing next to her, his shoulders stiff with unease as his own eyes flick between each of them. It's difficult not to meet his gaze, but he knows that the moment he does, it'll spell the end of any attempt at diplomatic proceedings today. He's pleased though to note that last night's rather tumultuous events haven't left any mark on him, the commander's eyes as sharp and alert as always.

He turns his head before Cullen can catch his gaze again, fighting the urge to meet those honey eyes and instead directing his attention to the map in front of them.

'If we were to move our forces from here.' He points to a section on the map that he barely sees and he knows the moment that Cullen moves in to study where his finger lies, that it was a mistake.

Of course he'd come for a closer look at the mention of the militia.

'No,' Cullen shakes his head as he approaches, his attention focused at the speck on the map that his finger currently lies on, 'if you were to do that it would make it appear that you were making way for us. Excuse me for playing at politics, but I suspect the Orlesians would take more note of that than we would like.'

'Of course,' Alistair breathes, 'silly me.'

'If, however, your troops could take this route,' there's a pause as Cullen's finger brushes his before tracking a line down the map, 'we could bolster where you originally suggested.'

It shouldn't be affecting him like this. Not when they had kissed just the night before, but there's something promising in that brief brush of skin. A gesture that should be entirely innocuous. But then there's never been anything innocent or accidental in Cullen's touch, his gestures always purposeful, always considered.

He swallows thickly, pushing off from the table. It opens just the slightest gap between them, space to breathe, to think perhaps.

'I…that's an idea. 'Lis?'

His wife looks over at the sound of her name, a pleased smile on her lips that she's struggling to hide.

'Yes?'

'Would you…agree? You've always been better at this military thing.'

'It sounds like a reasonable proposal. Perhaps we should work out the finer details later though. You look a little…warm.'

'Warm?' He knows he must sound like an idiot, mindlessly repeating his wife's words, his cheeks growing red. 'I…suppose it is a little…stuffy, in here. Could we open a window?'

'I wouldn't be comfortable doing that, your Majesty,' Artemis replies. 'You never know who could be loitering outside in the hope of learning some sensitive information.'

The purr in her voice as she speaks, the way her eyes flash to Elizabeth moments later, let's him know just how much they're manoeuvring him now. He hadn't realised that the brief conversation they had held as he'd been lost in his thoughts had been about him but now…now it seems obvious. He wonders too, if Cullen had been in on it as he'd been studying the map. He watches as Cullen sends a questioning glance to the women, an unspoken conversation unfolding in front of him as they smile back.

He's doomed. Trapped in a room with the only three lovers he's ever had, their women intent now on watching him and Cullen, any pretence of discussing business falling away like wet parchment.

'Perhaps you should take your cloak off, my dear,' Elizabeth suggests, Artemis all but snickering at the suggestion.

But it's Cullen's attention that pulls him in, golden eyes upon him as his infuriating smirk curves at perfectly scarred lips.

'I agree. All that fur, my king, it surely won't be missed.'

'I will if you will.'

The words tumble from his mouth before he has a chance to stop them and Cullen's smirk transforms, broadening, pleased. With a nod, his hands move to the ties of his surcoat, loosening the garment until he can slip it from his shoulders. There are layers of armour below, thick steel plate and whatever padding he wears beneath – leather, wool and cloth – but somehow just the shedding of that single crimson layer is one of the most arousing sights he's ever seen.

His own hands shake as he reaches for the cord that holds his cloak in place, pulling on the loop, somehow aware of the soft hush of fur pooling on the floor despite his heart hammering in his ears. There's no other noise but Cullen's imposing footsteps as he approaches, the women standing somewhere that he's lost sight of.

Cullen stops before him, so close Alistair can feel the heat of his breath, but he won't close that gap. It's a way out, he knows, the last chance to say no.

He doesn't need it.

It's strange how easy it is to fall back into, old memories recolouring in his mind as Cullen's lips press against his own; warm, soft, pliant. He recalls with almost perfect clarity the trysts they shared in the chantry, memories he had locked away when he'd sworn his oath to the wardens. Moments spent in quiet corners, shy glances and eager smiles, confusion and want roiling together that culminated in…well…in this.

Or something like it, at least. Similar, but different now, free and open in their affections despite their silent audience. There's a strength to Cullen's hands that wasn't there before, tension in his gloved fingers that hold them close. The scar on his lip too, an odd, hard counterpoint to the softness of his lips. And his stubble...the stubble that hadn't been there when they were last together, a minor irritation in the rasp against his own.

They break apart with a gasp, each taking a sharp intake of breath when they remember that they need air, and Alistair can't help but grin. For all the walls this man built around himself, for all the hardness that's replaced the gentle edges he'd held as a younger man, his eyes are the softest he's ever seen them. Gold meets his own gaze, warmer, at ease with who he is, his role here, safe in the presence of those who care for him.

It suits him, he decides, his fingers finding the underside of Cullen's strong chin, tilting his head up that insignificant inch. A quirk of those lips rewards him, the other man's gaze teasing before eyelids flutter shut at the press of lips once more.

He tries not to sigh into the embrace, the feeling of warm arms around him, the solidness of Cullen's form, but it's difficult not to. It's only the sudden firmness prodding his hip that distracts him from the kiss, and he gasps instead, startled but eased again by Cullen's quiet chuckle to himself.

A glance down confirms that it's the pommel of Cullen's sword, pressed between them and he chuckles himself, feeling warmth on his face. He stills as he watches the other man unbuckle the belts that hold the sheath in place, removing the weapon and resting it against the edge of the table. He's being deliberately slow, though whether it's the commander's teasing sense of humour or hesitance, he doesn't know. When he slips off heavy leather gloves and places them aside too, Alistair has to conclude that it's the former.

A glint from lust blown golden eyes confirms it, and he wastes no time in stepping forwards, grasping at the other man's armour. He pulls him against his body, lips finding his again, quick, eager, pressing insistently as Cullen's chest rumbles with laughter, vibrations in his throat as his hands find the buckles of his armour. He loosens them as quickly as he can, unfamiliar with the breastplate, fingers fumbling on clasps until Cullen's hands slip to his, covering, calming, guiding. Slowing under his renewed lover's touch he breathes, feeling lips on his neck, hot breath against his skin, the hint of a slick tongue.

It does nothing to ease the tremble in his hands, and he’s struggling with clasps still even as Cullen's hands find the fastenings of his own clothing, tugging and loosening, until the light leather he wears falls away. It's oddly freeing, standing entwined as he shrugs out of heavy fabric until there's only a thin barrier of silk between his chest and Cullen's hands. There's so much warmth radiating from those palms, heavy, firm against the plains of his chest, fingers curling in the cloth, tugging as the other man captures his mouth again.

His attention is divided, caught between the sensation of Cullen's lips against his and the hands easing his shirt out of the sash at his waist, cool air sneaking in as he does, soothing his suddenly overheated skin. He wants everything from him; to crush the other man to him, to pin him against the table and rut against him, skin against skin, wants to be pinned, wants to take it slow, savour him, wants him now, everywhere, all at once. And he doesn't know which he wants more or when, only that he's with him now and every thought he's had since they parted all those years ago finally have a chance of being fulfilled.

There's the slick tip of tongue tracing his bottom lip, questioning, and he opens, welcoming Cullen. He tastes as he always has – something strong but sweet, warm and spiced, like cinnamon, and he wonders if the commander still favours the soft butter biscuits his mother used to send them when they were young. He tastes like...home. Like home away from home, and for all that that notion made no sense to him, it felt right.

Tongues twine, warm and wet and easy, sliding languidly and even as he wonders if he tastes the same to Cullen, he feels himself reacting, loins stirring, the vaguest sensation of tightness in his groin as his stomach flutters. Hands slide against his back, under his shirt now, material rucking about his shoulders and chest, and Cullen pauses.

He pauses too. Or rather, he comes to a screeching halt, freezing beneath those warm hands, Cullen's mouth pulling away from his.

He speaks before his mind catches up, as always.

'I guess it's been a while since I've had a chance to do any real training,' he blushes, unable to avoid noticing how Cullen's gaze studies his body, 'burdens of a king and all that.'

He also can't help but notice how Cullen hasn't pulled away further, instead trailing his hands across exposed skin, and how there's a subtle bulge to the leather of his breeches. His lips are parted, a puff of warm breath playing over his chest as golden eyes trail downwards, hands following, over the just softened flesh of his stomach.

Embarrassment crawls over him, aware of how he must look compared to the other man's cut physique and stern grace. He's never been overly proud of his looks, perhaps a little above average, but at least before he had taken the throne he'd been in the best shape he could be. Now... well, he's tried, but there's only so much one can do in a day, with advisers and subject constantly clamouring for your attention and he knows how bulky he must look compared to Cullen, softer, rounder, even if he is still just that bit taller.

'You need make no apologies, Alistair,' Cullen answers at length, his voice hushed as his palms press to his stomach, moulding flesh to his hands, 'I rather like you as you are.'

The blush returns tenfold, if that's even possible, Alistair muses, meeting lust blown eyes once more, wondering just how Cullen can say those words and sound so sincere.

'Alistair,' he murmurs, shifting closer, hands easing into the small of his back, the tip of his nose brushing his own as he tilts his head, 'you are perfect as you are. There is no other man I have ever desired. Not like this.'

Warmth trails the length of his spine, climbing until Cullen's hand splays there between his shoulder blades, pressing him forward, against him, until lips meet once again. Without prompting, he feels his own hands returning to the buckles he'd abandoned, heart still hammering in his chest, but fingers calmer now, seeking out strips of leather and loosening them, until the only thing holding Cullen's breastplate on is the press of his own chest against it.

It clatters to the floor when they part, the noise jarring him for a moment, but then Cullen's kicking the metal aside, his hands tugging at the hem of his jerkin and the shirt beneath, pulling the garments cleanly over his head in one motion, ruffling blonde curls as he does. The cloth is discarded just as readily as the armour was, dropped somewhere off to the side that Alistair doesn't see nor care about. Not when there's the view that's in front of him now, hard lines and lightly golden skin, Cullen's chest heaving as he takes a breath, smirking under his perusal.

'I trust the view is still to your liking?'

The question is only meant to break his gaze, he knows, draw his attention upwards, but he can't find the words to answer it anyhow, the blood in his body seeming to move collectively downwards in those few moments. Instead, he nods, mouth dry and eyes wide, knowing he must look like an utter fool. But Cullen smiles still, softer, closing the few steps he'd taken backwards again, until skin is resting against skin.

He's glorious to hold, firm muscles and soft skin, smooth and warm save for the scars that mark his body here and there, striking white lines on an otherwise flawless canvas. The arms coiling around his own torso flex, teasing, pressing them together, and he dips once more, capturing that perfectly shaped mouth with it's alluring scar that he won't tell anyone the cause of. His own arms tighten, pressing them together, stoking silken heat into his own white skin, feeling the taper of that wonderfully broad back down to his trim waist.

There's a soft noise in the air, a sigh, a moan, he's not sure which, but he knows it's his own. He’s never able to hold back from expressing himself, even when he wishes he could. But if Cullen finds it off-putting, he shows no sign of it, breaking their kiss to nip at his jaw. He moves down his neck with careful attention, licking, nipping, nibbling, hands sliding lower as he laps at clusters of freckles, but moving ever downwards, each touch so hot it feels like a lick of fire against his skin.

He pauses at his chest, a sidewards glance cast to the woman, and Alistair follows the gaze, finding his wife and Artemis watching with rapt attention. The glance is simply confirmation on Cullen's part that both women were still comfortable with the situation as it progresses, but even knowing that, the idea of them watching him as Cullen’s hands attempt to slide into his trousers causes a bolt of arousal to flash through his nerves and he gasps, spine curving just a little, thrusting his hips against Cullen's clothed groin.

That earns him a rarely heard growl from the commander, playful, pleasure filled and for all it was a mistake, it gets him the attention he wants, the enticing sensation of Cullen's hardening shaft still behind thick leather. Hands slide further down his back, gripping at his backside as Cullen tilts their hips just so, bringing them in line, a better angle to rut against each other. Heat blooms in his groin at the sudden friction, the delicious pressure against him and he gasps, bites his lip as he arches again, Cullen shoving their bodies together as if they can become more tightly entwined.

His own hands find the other man's hair, a firm grip thorough pale golden strands, encouraging his head backwards. He leans in, elderflower and oakmoss filling his nose as he does, Cullen rutting against him as he lowers his mouth to his neck. He means to go slow, to take his time, taste him, savour him, worship him. But he'd be a fool to think that he could stand against the sudden desperation in Cullen's movements, the confines of his trousers growing painfully tight and he devours his neck instead; bites where he should kiss, sucks where he should lick, dragging his teeth over the knot in the man's throat.

Stubble rasps against his nose, his cheeks, as he moves, chaffing his lips, his fingers curling into the skin of Cullen's broad back, nails scoring. He hadn't meant to be this rough, had imagined something quiet and intimate, a slow exploration of each other's changed bodies, but his lover clearly has other ideas, if he has ideas at all, that is. He flicks his gaze up to the other man's golden eyes, finding them all but closed as quiet grunts escape parted lips. There's a wonderful lack of control in the man's expression, his movements all animal instinct now, and as much as there's a beauty to the urgency of the man, as agonizingly exquisite as the tremors travelling up his own spine are, it's not what he wants. Not yet. And if he doesn't put a stop to it soon, it'll be over before he has a chance to do anything about it.

His decision made, he tightens his grip on the other man's hair, a message he hopes he'll understand, and sure enough, Cullen's rutting slows, eyes flickering open and catching his own gaze. There's a question there, concern and frustration, and he lets his own grin cross his face now, smug, the commander at his mercy. There should be a quip somewhere, he thinks, trying to find a joke when all he can really do is admire the man in his grasp, enraptured by the clean lines of his neck, the tautness of his shoulders as his neck cranes back.

With a surge of inspiration he moves once more, pulling the man against him, hands gripping at a taut backside as he pivots them, trapping the commander's hips against the edge of the table. Golden eyes flicker to his again, warm, knowing, his smirk easing as he shoves against him, pinning the man down, against the table. It leaves the other man in an awkward position, hips unsupported, and he writhes, struggling to find purchase somewhere, arms scattering the myriad of markers on the table's map once more. Behind him, he swears he hears an exasperated sigh from Artemis, no doubt at the notion of having to find where they had once stood again. Not that he cares when he's got Cullen lying here before him.

So graceful, his commander, fierce strength and beauty, the man still now, chest heaving. They pause, hard against one another, still blocked by leather. Alistair can feel his own skin grow damp, and he’s gritting his teeth against the aching hardness of his length. Cullen knows of course, and for all that the man is in the exact same state, he somehow smirks again, superior. He finds he has little care for it as he scoops Cullen's hips up to rest on his forearm, pressing between thick thighs as he does, his groin rubbing against Cullen's. And for once, the other man stops his struggle to maintain control, a breath passing between his lips before he relaxes into the hold.

'As you will, my king,' he breathes and Alistair grins, leaning over the now pliant body beneath him, 'but mark my words...I'll have you in the same position before your visit is over.'

'Is that a threat, commander?' He beams against his stomach, tongue flicking out to trace the dips of his muscles, teeth tugging at the soft skin beneath his navel.

'A promise.'

He doesn't have a response for that, his mouth preoccupied with the soft skin beneath it and he ignores the words in favour of delivering, the tip of his nose tickled by darkening hairs trailing beneath Cullen's belt.

Hips shift in his grip as he pauses at the hem of leather trousers, restless as he breathes hard, eying the prominent bulge before him. Nerves flutter through him, his belly and mind unsettled for a moment before he urges himself onwards, his free hand finding the buckle in front of him. It's difficult to manage with one hand, his fingers suddenly clumsy again, unaided by his own desperation, keenly aware of the ache between his legs.

It's the unannounced touch to his scalp that slows him, Cullen's fingertips easing through his hair, his motions kept light, encouraging, and Alistair finds himself tilting his head, a glance upwards as his cheek lays on the warm breadth of the other man's stomach. Golden eyes are reassuringly calm as he looks to him, the faint smile on his lips fond and relaxed, and he smiles back, breathing slowing as he turns back to his task. The belt loosens a moment later, slipping free of its loops, the laces behind needing little encouragement to ease and part.

He's ready for what comes next, encouraging Cullen to shimmy further onto the table, freeing his arm for his next job. The flaps of dark leather concealing the commander's groin are still stretched taut despite the loosened laces and he grins as he takes hold of the material, pulling them away, eager to be greeted by the strained white cotton of his smalls.

'Oh...'

The sound falls from his mouth without thought as he blinks, making sense of the sight before him. Not what he'd expected. There's no barrier between him and Cullen, the last scrap of modesty he'd expected to peel away from his lover conspicuously absent. Instead the man's rigid shaft greets him, springing free as he peels fabric from Cullen's slim hips. His hands work, easing the thick leather down his thighs until it bunches at his knees and he eyes the man's length.

Gut instinct urges him to seize upon him, to take him in hand or mouth, to wring the grunts of bliss he remembers from him. It takes effort to push that urge away, even more so to ignore the flicker of heat that had surged through his belly at the sight of him, yet he somehow manages, offering a smile as a promise before he pulls his attention to the man's boots. He's momentarily stymied by the design, wondering how the commander ever manages to get the damn things on by himself with the laces at the back, not really caring either, if he's honest, as he tugs the laces just loose enough to ease off the offending footwear. Trousers follow a moment after, Cullen kicking his legs free of them, and a heartbeat later Alistair finds himself on top of him again, with no real recollection how he got there.

He's so...warm. So smooth beneath him, reassuringly firm as Alistair presses him into the table, his scent sparking a frenzy in his mind; a need to bite and lick at his skin, and his cock throbs with the thought, crammed painfully into his own breeches still. Cullen only offers a raised eyebrow at his predicament, a tease ready on his lips before he captures his mouth, cutting off whatever dry quip the other man had planned. Beneath him, the broad body shakes, laughter rocking him even as he responds to his kiss in full, tongues sliding together as hips shuffle.

He bucks at the contact, a broad, firm pressure against his lower body that sends flares through his nerves. Clothed as he is, he can't appreciate the particular hardness of his lover's length, only the way it twitches, trapped between their bodies. But he can appreciate the soft grunt that Cullen tries to hide, lost in his mouth until the commander's fingers tangle into his hair, guiding them apart for a brief second. He uses it only to press his mouth to Alistair’s ear, a gentle scrape of teeth against the tip that he knows is strange in its subtle pointedness, for a human. Strange too, in its sensitivity, he suspects, though he's never had the courage or presence of mind to ask anyone else. Softer caresses follow, pliant lips following the shell of his ear as he murmurs;

'Are you going to take me, my king?'

The words startle him to such effect that he has no comeback, other than to groan and shamelessly rut against him, the heavy throb in his cock threatening to tip him over. The sensation abates as he heaves air into his lungs, staring down into seemingly innocent golden eyes and all he can manage to do is shake his head as he grits his teeth.

'Too close. Won't last.' He manages to admit, though the slow undulations of Cullen's hips against his clothed groin are fast eroding his ability to even do that. He doesn't understand how this man, nude and exposed beneath him, his cock twitching and leaking between them, manages to keep control even now, exuding complete calm, save for the parting of his lips at a particularly sweet thrust against him.

'But where's this grey warden stamina I've heard so much about?' he teases, hands sliding into Alistair’s hair again, tugging his mouth down against his. Hands stray to his waistband, the manner in which he works infuriating in its efficiency, and Alistair can only muster the presence of mind to slow his rutting, better aiding his partner's motions.

Cool air greets his inflamed skin as breeches and braes are pushed past his hips. Neither of them concern themselves with discarding them fully, pushing them down only far enough to allow their bodies access to each other.

'Doesn't,' he pants, 'work like that.'

Warm hands grip at his backside, pressing him down, nudging their cocks together as Cullen parts his thighs under him. The fit of their bodies always surprised him back in the chantry, taught to believe that two men couldn't lay together because they simply didn't align like a man and woman would. And yet here they were, chest to chest, shafts squeezed together, one longer, one thicker, but the subtle curves mirroring each other, the throb of each heartbeat that pulsed through them both perfectly in time.

A slow roll of Cullen's hips and he groans again, shaft throbbing as heat sears through his belly, beautiful friction firing through his nerves and he bucks into him, hard. There's a quiet grunt at that, a break in Cullen's impressive self control. It's all the opening he needs, as he crushes his mouth to the other man's, any attempt to savour the moment now lost. There will be other times, he hopes, time to suck at Cullen's length until the man shudders and groans, time to take him and be taken, to explore his body and learn everything anew.

But for now he wants to hear him groan, wants to rut against him until the man submits and falls apart beneath him. His hands find a gloriously rounded cheek of their own accord, gripping hard and pulling him upwards, hips angled so that they drag together now. Frictions grates against him, borderline painful, easing when he reaches for their lengths' and spreads the beads of precum that have gathered at each of their heads. It's the press of his thumb to Cullen's swollen head that makes the man grunt and arch against him, control suddenly fleeing him as calloused hands fly to grasp at his back.

Nails bite into his flesh and he almost hisses, aware of the pain but so enraptured by this man, so pleased that he can wring this response from him that he redoubles his efforts. Cullen's grip on his shoulder blades tightens as he does, his cock grinding hard against the other. There's sweat trickling down his back, his thighs burning, chest heaving. But every thrust sends another shiver of pleasure down his spine, makes the pressure behind his balls and the tension in his cock heavier, every soft grunt and surprised breath from Cullen spurring him on, begging him to endure that bit longer.

He's lost track of any sense of time or place, trapped in a cycle of pushing and grinding, wanting to come but wanting it to last. He knows they're still being watched, some far buried section of his mind wondering if their women are enjoying this as much as they are, if the wet slap of skin and the musk in the air is as arousing to them as it is to him. It's almost more than he can take now, senses overwhelmed and any chance he has to stave off his impending climax is shattered as Cullen wrenches him down, crushing their mouths together.

The palm at the back of his neck is vice like despite the slick sweat that coats it, fingers gripping him like it's Cullen's only connection to this plane of existence as he convulses. Perhaps it is, as he arches, shaking, straining, his face buried in the crook of his neck as warmth spurts across his stomach, the faintest gasp the only noise the commander makes as he comes.

Somehow, that almost inaudible noise is enough, the final stimulation he needs as he thrusts against Cullen's rippling stomach, sliding through hot slick moisture as he adds to it. His hips snap down, a final groan escaping him as every muscle seizes in unison, the pressure in his cock releasing in a blaze that leaves him breathless.

Lungs empty, energy drained, he sags, all but falling against the body below him, feeling warm arms curl around him, Cullen's hands stroking down his back. There's breath against his ear, slowing as he calms, blood cooling, the length of his nose nuzzling in under his jaw and he pulls back, a brief kiss pressed to the commander's temple.

'Well that...' he breathes, pressure crowding his chest as he meets golden eyes, '...was that...I mean, for me it was...but I didn't...'

The commander's eyebrow lifts, a miniscule smile curving his mouth, content, relaxed in his arms.

'All I could have asked for, Alistair.'

'You're certain?

He shifts his hips upwards, pressing his softening length to his hip, his evidence.

'Very.'

The smile breaks onto his face before he can stop it, heart fluttering in his chest before he drops his gaze, suddenly shy in the presence of his lover. And very aware of their audience. He feels Cullen shift to look at them the moment he does, attention shifting as their skin cools again.

The expressions on their faces are eerily similar, in complete agreement for once, though Artemis drops her gaze when Cullen catches her eyes. Elizabeth however, smiles back at them, a broad grin she doesn't often wear curling painted lips, her eyes bright.

'That was...quite the display.'

His cheeks are burning before Elizabeth has finished speaking, equal parts flattered and flustered by his wife lusty grin. It lessens a moment later, just as Cullen begins to fidget, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and she turns her gaze elsewhere.

'You need a moment, yes?' she questions, knowing the answer and Alistair can only nod back at her, grateful for that.

She turns away, more for Cullen's modesty than her own and he knows that their moment is up. With a quiet smile he pulls away, wiping himself down with a superfluous undershirt that makes up the many layers of his clothing before beginning to dress again. He finds himself accompanied by Cullen a moment later, helping him back into his finery before he returns the gesture, helping him buckle back into his armour.

Presentations restored, save for the glow he knows his cheeks still sport, and he twines his fingers with Cullen's, gloved once more, before he returns to Elizabeth's side. She greets him with a smile, knowing, pleased, before she takes his hand guiding him to the door where Artemis lingers, blushing. She won't meet his eyes, fascinated by flagstones beneath their feet, though she can't stop the smirk on her lips.

'You know, I've always found floors particularly amusing as well,' he jests, coaxing her eyes up to meet his, her grin widening as she does. She can't hold it for long, though he suspects that's for the best until both of their nerves have abated, and they're saved from further conversation as Cullen joins them. He can't help but notice the way their hands find each others the moment he's beside her, fingers intertwining.

He knows the ritual for what it is; reaffirming their own connection, a promise that they still belonged to each other. It was the same ritual he and Elizabeth had gone through that morning, and he squeezes Elizabeth's hand, feeling her return the motion, any nerves he had held over their infidelity soothed.

'I...uh,' Artemis clears her throat, 'I thought we might take lunch in the gardens. It looks like it's a pleasant day outside. It would be a shame to spend it all cooped up in here.'

'Agreed.' Cullen nods and Alistair can only follow suit as the other couple lead them from the room.

Outside, a faint breeze stirs the trees in the garden, a soft rustling through the branches as they sit. It doesn't take long for servants to scurry about them, plates of food laid before them. Across from them, he notes the chessboard that's been set up.

'You still play chess then, Cullen?' he asks, gesturing to the board.

'Not as often as I'd like,' he answers, 'but...when I get a moment, yes. I used to play against Dorian but...since he left, I've not really had an opponent anyway.'

He can almost feel Elizabeth's ears prick up at that.

'Do you not play, Artemis?' she asks, curiosity present once more.

'I did once,' the inquisitor answers, 'but I lost so badly I've been too embarrassed to play again since. I...don't really know how to play.'

'Then why did you offer to play against me?' Cullen asks.

'Oh I think you're well aware of why.' She reaches down, squeezing his thigh and Alistair chokes on his tea in his attempt to stifle a laugh.

'Well...' Elizabeth drawls, and his attention shifts back to her as he dabs tea from his nose, 'we could play as a foursome. Two teams. How does ladies against gents sound?'

'I'm concerned I'd only make you lose.'

'Oh don't worry about that, Artemis. I'd be glad to have you on my side. Besides...I have a few tricks up my sleeve.'

There's a glint in her eye as she smiles, unnervingly innocent and within a few moments, Artemis catches on, her own dastardly smile appearing and Alistair feels his stomach drop. He knows without a doubt that there's no way that they can beat those women if they choose to work together.

A fact that Artemis clearly knows as well as she stands, walking towards the table, a glance thrown at them over her shoulder.

'In that case, let's play.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading, kudos'ing and commenting etc.
> 
> As always, concrit is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> And I'm still on [tumblr](http://http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to stop and say hi :)
> 
> Until the next chapter :)


	17. Tactics (NSFW - Alistair x Elizabeth x Artemis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well ladies, your time has come....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uber sorry for the delay on this, lovely readers. I don't know how/why it's taken me this long to post. On the upside, this chapter is a fair bit longer than my usual chapters so...I guess that's an upside. If you like reading this stuff. Which I guess you do since you're, you know, here. Reading...this.
> 
> Also, just as a brief note, this is my first ever attempt at femslash so I hope that it's satisfactory. I've had the thumbs up from my lovely beta readers/ opinion panel (TheLadyOrTheTiger and Bioticblackops - both talented writers. If you want something else to read go check out their pages), so with any luck this will be ok for everyone else who's interested in a bit of lady loving.
> 
> And as always, I'm still on[ tumblr](http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com/) on if anyone wants to stop by and say hello. 
> 
> Enjoy!

'So, have you given them names?'

'Have I... what?'

The question catches Cullen off guard and he frowns, sending an irritated glance to his chess partner who only smirks back at him.

The group had followed Artemis once they'd finished eating, splitting into their playing pairs at the small carved chess table. He and Alistair had arranged themselves on the far side of the board as Artemis and Elizabeth settled into the seats opposite them, their backs to the warm afternoon sun.

Already at a disadvantage and he sighs, glancing to his king.

'The pieces. Have you given them names?' Alistair asks again, eyebrows lifted as if the question was of particular importance.

'They already have names Alistair. You know this. We used to play at the chantry.'

'Nooo...' Alistair drawls, prodding at a piece, 'See this? This is a pawn. That's a title, not a name. We should give him a name. He looks like a Kayden, don't you think?'

If possible, Cullen feels the frown on his face deepen, unsure of what Alistair was playing at whilst, opposite them, the women snigger to themselves.

'Alistair, it is a carved piece of wood. I doubt it cares. What exactly are you trying to achieve here?'

The redhead leans in, grinning, full lips stopping just a breath away from his ear.

'I'm convincing them that I'm an utter fool who doesn't know how to play chess.'

'I doubt that will take much convincing.'

Alistair leaps back at that, clutching at his heart in mock offense.

'You wound me, commander.'

'Alistair, sweetheart,' Elizabeth calls from across the table, catching his attention instantly, 'you're louder than you think. And you've never played chess in your life.'

'Oh he has...' Cullen answers, a smirk on his lips, 'he's just utterly useless at it.'

'Hey...'

'I can only imagine that's true,' Elizabeth teases, firing a grin at him. 'But...regardless. Should we get on with it?'

He chuckles at that, amused by the impatience in his queen's voice.

'Very well. In the interest of courtesy, I believe ladies move first.'

A red eyebrow lifts, speculative, as slender fingers grip the top of a pawn.

'Courtesy? Or tactical advantage?'

'Whichever you prefer, my lady,' he answers smoothly. Beside him, Alistair titters.

'Do you know the basics of how to play, Artemis?' Elizabeth asks, her finger still resting atop carved mahogany.

'Yes. Cullen's shown me, but I struggle with the strategic parts.'

'They're not so bad, when you've grasped how pieces move. But it can get somewhat complicated when it comes to recognising types of plays. Fortunately, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.'

With that she moves a pawn forwards a square, seemingly without care for where it ends up. Cullen wonders just what these tricks she claims to have are. It's always seemed strange to him that the Warden-Commander of Ferelden favoured a stealthy style of fighting when she was in command of so many warriors and mages.

Out of curiosity, he moves one of his own pawn forwards, into a position that will leave him exposed in just a few turns. He wonders if she's the type to take the bait, or if she'll see it for the ruse it is. The latter, he hopes. He'd be sorely disappointed if she turned out to be a poor tactician. But he doubts she is.

Her next move is more considered, dark blue eyes flicking back and forth over the board, considering options. When she seems to have made up her mind she leans to the side, until she's almost resting against Artemis, painted lips hovering at her ear She whispers something, the wash of her voice barely audible, and Artemis nods, understanding, before Elizabeth retreats, nudging another pawn forward.

He doesn't pause to consider his next move, wanting to goad her into making a mistake, and he jumps a knight forward, resting to the side of a pawn now.

'Is that a good idea?' Alistair's breath is warm against his ear as he speaks, his arm brushing against his own.

It shouldn't arouse him, having spent himself so recently, but even now, he finds himself reacting to the other man's proximity.

So much time had passed between the last time they had been together and now, but Alistair hadn't changed all that much, in truth. Broader across his chest and shoulders, perhaps, and infinitely more confident than he had been years ago, but still the same at heart. Passionate, loyal, gentle.

His hand brushes against his arm as Cullen leans back in his chair, all too aware of the heat of his skin now, and he tries to ignore it in favour of the game.

'Trust me,' he responds, feeling a smile tug at his lips, an odd counterpoint to Alistair's lifted brow. He shakes his head after a moment, turning his gaze back to the board, and he follows suit, watching as Elizabeth considers his placement.

Of course she doesn't take the bait, smiling back at him, borderline condescending. She knows what he's up to, and he can see her calculating how best to play her next move.

With a nod to herself, she leans over to Artemis again, whispering into her ear once more and he watches her lips move, trying to read her words. It fails completely. He's distracted, he realises, as Artemis pushes her hair off her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear to allow the woman better access to whisper her secrets.

The sweep of honey gold hair exposes the clean lines of her tanned shoulder, catching his attention. He curses himself for encouraging her to wear a more formal dress that morning, one which ties behind her neck, allowing the stretch of her shoulders to remain unbroken by straps.

Just inches above that rich golden shoulder, Elizabeth hovers, murmuring still into Artemis's ear, the porcelain of her skin such a contrast to his own lover’s. He likes it, he decides, wants to see them closer, the press of skin together, ivory against sand. He wonders how they would look together, full curves and soft skin and better yet...how they would react to each other.

Would they be nervous with each other, soft eyes and timid smiles, tentative touches and gentle explorations? Or would they fight one another, limbs locked together as hips and lips crashed, grinding, demanding? Or a bit of both? Would they struggle at first, and slow when tempers were soothed, enjoy one another's form, or start with slow explorations that gave way to impatient grasps, grappling together as their fury stoked each other to climax?

He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable, aware that the images in his mind are only stoking his lust further. The leather covering his crotch seems to grow tighter in just a few moments and he leans forward, elbows on the table, hoping that his shoulders will hide the state of his lower body. Beside him, Alistair fidgets, and he wonders if the man is having just as much trouble as he is. More than likely, knowing Alistair. The man was never really able to resist anything even vaguely sordid. 

The king leans back in his chair, legs crossing in an attempt to seem casual. His wife knows of course, lifting an eyebrow, the slightest hint of a smile on her lips before she pulls away from Artemis's ear.

Slender fingers grip a piece, shifting it forwards a pace, neatly avoiding the trap he's laid and Cullen smiles to himself. The queen was a very careful tactician, it seemed, and he wonders if he can use that hesitation to his advantage. Providing of course that the women would play fair and didn't...

Oh.

A gentle shift in Artemis's posture catches his attention, his lover leaning forwards, resting her elbows on the edge of the table. Her head is cocked, as if studying the board, but he knows it's a ruse. The angle she's leaning in at leaves an almost scandalous amount of breast bare, material shifting down to expose enticing cleavage, her lightly toned arms framing the view.

It doesn't matter how many times he's seen this view, or that he's seen her nude. He never tires of her form, always struggles to resist the allure of her curves, and he reaches for the goblet of wine that rests beside him, hoping to divert his own attention.

'Hmmm...and I thought Alistair looked warm,' Elizabeth remarks, her tone conversational despite the teasing smile she sports. 'Perhaps you should remove your surcoat?'

'I’m fine, my lady, though I thank you for your concern.'

Her smile grows a fraction as she nods.

'As you will, commander.'

He watches as she leans back somewhat, almost mirroring Alistair's own posture, though she appears far more at ease than his majesty. She sits with her head lifted, chin poised as she considers the board down the length of her nose, hands folded in her lap. It's a stark contrast to Artemis's borderline brazen display, her fuller figure giving her an aura of raw sexuality that Elizabeth doesn't have. Instead, it's Elizabeth's careful posturing that give her body it's appeal, shoulders held back to expose delicate collarbones, her reclined position drawing attention to the flat plain of her stomach.

His mind drifts back to their...fraternisations just a few nights ago, and he finds himself moving pieces without thought, the board fading in front of him, instead replaced with lily white skin and rich copper waves of hair. How taut her stomach had been, firm beneath his teeth and lips, how it had blossomed red at the nick of his teeth.

'Your turn, I believe, commander.' Elizabeth's voice breaks into his thoughts, and he blinks, unable to believe he's let his attention stray so far.

'I...yes...of course.'

She's moved a castle forward this time, placed it in a dangerously exposed move that he can only assume is either her own blatant play, or a sign she thinks he's completely lost his focus.

Which wouldn't be too far from the truth.

He moves anyway, taking the castle with a knight and pulling it from the board. Her expression remains neutral and he leans back, pleased to have disproved her, watching as she taps at her lower lip in thought. Her eyes grow distant even as they flicker over the board, calculating, and it's only when Artemis reaches out to her that her attention sharpens again.

It seems as much of a surprise to her as it is to him when his own love reaches out to touch the queen's arm, the pads of her fingers skimming down Elizabeth's bicep, and the woman's eyes widen a fraction, eyebrows lifting. Within moments, she gains control again, a pleased smile crossing her lips as Artemis leans in herself, murmuring into her ear this time.

Cullen can only watch with his own brow raised at the brief chuckle that passes between the women before Artemis moves a piece this time. It's a poor move, and yet he doesn't care that it leaves him with a perfect opening to attack, not when she leans back, as Elizabeth has, relaxed as she reclines, closer to the other woman now.

The game wears on, the slow to and fro of pieces across the board barely holding his attention. Each move he makes, the women drift closer together, their shoulders touching now, Elizabeth's hand grazing across the side of Artemis's chest as she moves pieces in not so accidental motions. The move shocks his love at first, and she retreats for a moment, before throwing her lot in with the other woman, pressing together despite the spacious double seat they occupy. Touches seem to grow bolder, more frequent, eyes meeting regularly and he swears that before long, their flirtations become directed towards each other, rather than at him and Alistair.

Not that Alistair has made any effort to involve himself in the game. Instead, he's spent the last....however long they've been here, lounging in his chair, watching their exchanges in rare silence, sipping from his wine on occasion. He wonders if their partners' displays have rendered him mute with lustful musings. And if these flirtation will lead to something more promising, if the women will suddenly decide they've had enough of their brazen displays and make good on them instead, if...

'Inquisitor.'

The use of Artemis's title, breaks him out of his thoughts once again and he finds one of Josephine's messengers standing beside them, requesting hers and his own presence in dealing with....something.

He zones out again, his ears only just registering what the messenger is saying, and in a few moments, Artemis agrees to deal with the issue, and the two of them excuse themselves from their royal guests.

'I'm sure we can conclude our game this evening?' Artemis asks, getting up from her seat, and he joins her side, looking to Elizabeth and Alistair.

The queen herself is bright eyed, eager, and she smiles and nods with as much enthusiasm as she dares display in front of the messenger. Alistair nods along with her, an obvious display that he's not paying any attention. At least, not until a sudden sharpness in her tone rouses him, and he blinks, registering the question and agreeing more lucidly before bidding them goodbye.

With a sigh, Cullen finds himself following the messenger from the garden, taking Artemis's hand as he walks, smiling at the feeling of her small hand in his. She glances to him from the corner of her eye, a gentle smile on her lips that he returns before her eyes flash with a mischievous glint that he's not used to seeing from her.

'Clarice,' she calls, pulling them up short. The messenger halts, turning back to them, puzzled.

'My lady?'

'Could you please tell the Compte that we will be there in a moment? I need to discuss something with the commander before we meet.'

Clarice's dark eyes flicker between them, confusion writing itself onto her brows before she curtseys.

'As you wish, Lady Inquisitor.'

She bustles off down the hall without another word, an alarming speed to her steps, before she disappears out the door, and Artemis tugs him into a dusty, disused office.

'We...need to discuss something, my love?' he asks, uncertainty colouring his voice as she closes the door behind them. She had seemed fine, not showing any signs of disapproval of what had occurred until now, and he worries that he's misjudged her demeanour.

His hand grips at the pommel of his sword, uneasy.

She turns her back on the door, pirouetting to face him, an air of excitement about her, and blue eyes flash again as she meets his gaze.

'Well...I suppose it's more of an admission on my part, but I did have a… proposal.'

'I...an admission?'

She pauses now, some of the gleam fading from her eyes, apprehension clouding them.

'This morning...' she begins, her hands straightening her clothes, 'you and Alistair. It was...'

He realises in a few seconds what she means to say, feels his lips twitch into a smile as he gazes at her. When she catches his gaze, reads his expression, it seems to bolster her resolve and she nods to herself, straightening her spine as she moves from the door, coming to stand in front of him.

'It was...beautiful,' she murmurs, looking up at him. 'I thought it would be...you know, exciting, but I didn't think...I didn't realise what it meant to either of you before.'

He smiles down at her, a soft exhale as he bends down to brush his lips against her forehead. He doesn't know quite how to articulate what he's feeling - a mixture of gratitude and relief, and a strange sense of pride that she had been so entranced by the show. Despite her continued assertions that she was fine with it, a part of him had still expected her to reject him if he'd committed to the act.

Wrapping his arms about her, he pulls her into him, pressing her into his chest, and he wishes, once again, that he wasn't wearing his breastplate. In some corner of his mind he muses that he really needs to start wearing more appropriate attire these days. With the army mostly maintaining itself, and no threats on the horizon, it isn’t necessary to wear the armour so much anymore.

'I... thank you, my love. For allowing me this.'

'You're welcome, Cullen. And... it's not like it was a completely selfish act.'

He chuckles at that.

'No, I suppose you did get quite the show. I take it you enjoyed that aspect of it too?'

'More than I thought I would.'

'I am pleased. So...what was this proposal of yours?'

'Ah, that.' She pulls back from him a little, glancing to the side of the room as her face flushes red. 'It's uh...it's nothing, actually.'

'Artemis...' He lets a teasing growl slip into his tone as he calls her back. 'Do not lose your nerve now. You've not had my judgment on these things before, and you'll not have it now. Tell me.'

She hesitates, eyes darting up to his, trying to gauge his truthfulness, before she bites her lip and nods.

'Watching you and Alistair...it's made me think. I've never really wanted to do anything like that with another woman before. I've never even thought about it but...I'm curious...'

'You're saying you would like to lie with Elizabeth?'

'I mean, only if she wants to. And I don't know if I'd go all the way like you and Alistair...I'm, not even entirely sure what two women can do but...she's so beautiful, isn't she?'

He smiles again, trying to ignore the tension in his trousers that reasserted itself at her words.

'She is. If you would like to explore that, I have no qualms. I believe she would feel the same.'

'Do you think? I mean, the flirting, it's all for show...'

'Yes, I was aware of that. But I think even on Elizabeth's part there was more to it than she anticipated. I do believe that she can't take her eyes off you.'

'Really? Why?' Her brow furrows. 'Why would someone like her be interested in someone like me? I'm so...plain, in comparison.'

'My love, I beg you not to doubt yourself. You are as beautiful as she is, if not more so, if in a different way. She is...elegant, yes, but you...' he pulls back, letting his eyes roam heavily over her form, amused when she flushes again.

'You are the embodiment of a woman. She knows that too. And...for all Elizabeth's beauty...she doesn't have these.' His hands pull up sharply from her waist to rest on her full chest, and she laughs. 'And I do believe she's rather jealous of that. As she should be.'

'I'll take your word for it. And...what about Alistair? Do you think...?'

'I think Alistair will be more than accommodating on the subject,' he interrupts her. If he knew Alistair, and he did, the man would be just as eager to see his wife and Artemis together as he was.

'Tonight then?'

'Tonight.' He smiles, brushing a kiss over her forehead again, before taking her hand and leading her out to their meeting with the Compte.

–

It's the nerves in his own stomach that surprise him the most.

Sat in the armchair that's positioned in the centre of their bedchamber, staring at the chessboard before him, he finds his heart running faster than he would have expected, excited by the thought of what could come to pass this evening.

Artemis feels the same way, he suspects, from the way she fidgets, sitting across from him, a large glass of wine in her hand.

Alistair and Elizabeth are yet to arrive, having gone to freshen up after dinner, and in the minutes that has passed since then, Artemis's determination has started to waver.

'Are you well, my love?' he asks, his voice pitched into little more than a whisper in the still air.

Her eyes flick to him, pulling back from whatever daydream she'd been occupied with.

'Yes,' she answers after a moment. 'I'm just...is this a good idea?'

'You mean, your proposition to Elizabeth?'

'Yes. What if she takes it the wrong way? Or laughs at me.'

'I doubt that will be the case.'

'Well, even if she doesn't, how do I...you know, suggest it?'

He understands. It was one thing for he and Alistair to revisit such things, but this was entirely new territory for the two women, as far as he was aware. Sometimes curiosity wasn't enough to get past that initial nervousness. But then...he had a plan for this...

'I have given some thought to that,' he answers, watching as her eyes brighten.

'Oh?'

'But you will have to wait to see. Just assure me that this is what you want. If you're not comfortable with something, I need you to tell me.'

'Of course I will.'

He smiles again, reassuring her.

'In that case, just trust me.'

She nods, opens her mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted by a rapid knock on the door. With a smile, she makes to answer it as he moves to the table to pour wine for their guests, catching Alistair's voice the moment he steps into the room.

He's joking about something, as always, praising the chef for a wonderful meal, and complimenting Artemis on her appearance before he bounds up the stairs.

Cullen casts a glance over his shoulder at the sound of heavy footsteps, catching sight of Alistair as he heads towards him, beaming, relaxed. The women follow at a more leisurely pace, walking side by side and conspiring already. He hands them their glasses as they reach him and Alistair, the king already having claimed his own, and they chat for a moment, polite small talk that they all know each of them is waiting to discard.

There's no plan, as far as he's aware, for anything other than a civilised game of chess. And yet the tension in the air is noticeable and it doesn't take long for Elizabeth to suggest they finish their game.

They pick up where they left off, he and Alistair pitted against Elizabeth and Artemis, though in all honesty, Alistair seems more content to doze off with his wine clasped in hand than actually participate. Until Cullen clears his throat, that is, prompting an amber eye to crack open.

'I was thinking,' he comments, catching Alistair's eye before he looks to the women, 'that we might make this game a little more...'

'Sordid?' Alistair finishes for him, smirking from over the rim of his wine glass, eyes shimmering with amusement.

'...I was going to say, interesting, but I suppose in this context, yes.'

'Well, commander, we thought you'd never ask.' Elizabeth hums, eyes flickering to his as she moves another piece, a glint of white teeth to her smile as she takes one of his castles. 'Did you have something specific in mind? Strip chess, perhaps?'

'I suspect it's a little late to begin that now.' He snorts. 'But...it is along the lines of what I was considering.'

He glances to Artemis, a brief check that she's happy for him to press on with his proposal, and when she nods, he leans back to take both of them in his view.

'I propose that whoever loses the game suffers a forfeit of the winner's choice.'

There's a snort next to him as Alistair chokes on his wine, devolving quickly into a series of coughs as he smacks his own chest, attempting to clear his airways. When he finally manages to achieve his goal, wine still dripping from his nose, he can only manage to mutter; 'Nice plan.'

Across from him, Elizabeth nods slowly, an eye cast over Alistair to ensure his well-being.

'So whomever loses is at the mercy of the winner's fantasies?'

'Within reason, yes.'

'I am tempted to think that there's no disadvantage to this. I accept your proposal.'

He allows himself a quiet chuckle at that, enjoying his queen's brazen nature, before turning his gaze to Artemis and Alistair to confirm their consent.

With their agreement, he continues playing, moving another piece, studying Elizabeth now as her and Artemis's flirting returns. Emboldened by the wine and the promise in the air, both of them are more obvious in their efforts, not only in their attempts to distract him, but also in how they react to the other.

There's still nervousness in Artemis's movements, but no sign of retreat from Elizabeth's advances, seeming as though she's enjoying the attention now.

He redoubles his efforts as his loins twitch and swell again, frowning down at the board. While it was true that no one really would suffer for losing, he had no intention of doing so. Not with the images swirling through his mind that he wanted to fulfil, ones that it seemed the women would be happy to indulge.

It's fortunate for him that Elizabeth's attention on the game is waning, her moves becoming sloppy. Between the wine and flirtations, she's growing careless, and he doesn't waste the opportunity, moving in a play that he knows will cripple her pieces in just a few moves.

And there, three turns later, he has her in check. Another two and it's checkmate, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch into a self satisfied smile as he leans back in his chair. He reaches for the glass of wine next to him, plucking it from its place on the table and taking a long drink from it, the rim of the glass struggling to hide his expression.

It's petty, he knows, but he can't help but be a little pleased at having defeated Ferelden's Warden-Commander, even if she wasn't fully focused on the game, and he wonders if her competitive streak will show itself in light of her loss.

She's staring down at the board, still, fingers pressed to her lips as her eyes flicker over pieces, recalling moves, assessing her own play before she nods and straightens, her eyes meeting his.

Steel blue meets him, calm and quiet, a glint of appreciation mixed in with anticipation.

'It seems I must concede defeat. Well played, commander.'

'Thank you, my lady,' he murmurs, trying to hide his own satisfaction. In an attempt to distract himself, he glances to Artemis.

Her eyes are locked on him, wide, surprised, and he wonders if she regrets agreeing to the wager. If she does, he won't hesitate to drop the subject, concerned that what he has in mind may prove to be too much for his lover's awakening tastes.

And then she catches him off guard.

'We are to do your bidding then, Cullen?' Her voice has dropped to a low pitch he doesn't often hear from her, cautious but wanton, her eyes glinting as she fuels his lust.

'I...' He pauses, caught off guard, before he gathers himself again. Straightening his shoulders and back, he regards the women.

'Before we go any further with this, I want to be clear - if anyone is uncomfortable with anything, you tell me immediately and we stop. Understood?'

Both pairs of blue eyes, their different shades glinting in the dim light of the room, meet his before slow nods accompany their words.

'Understood.'

'Very well.' He leans back in his chair again, gripping the goblet sat next to him once more and taking a large gulp. 'I would like you both to strip.'

There's a pause, an exchange of glances between the women.

'To our knickers or...'

'I believe strip means completely, 'Lis' he answers, cutting her off, finding the nickname odd on his tongue.

But if the queen is displeased at the informality, she ignores it, tipping her head in deference as she begins removing her boots. She pauses after a moment, eyes landing on his again, questioning;

'Is there a problem?'

'Begging your pardon, commander, but my gown laces at the back. Might I ask Artemis for assistance?'

She's good at this game, playing at being subservient, and he's surprised at how good it looks on her. He wonders if she and Alistair have played this game before and he turns his head to look at the other man.

Amber eyes are trained on the women, lips parted in anticipation, his breathing just barely heavier than usual. With a spark of inspiration, Cullen smiles at the other man, though it goes unnoticed.

'No,' he answers, smirking as Alistair startles and turns a confused gaze on him, disappointment evident in the pinch of his brow. 'Alistair will undress both of you.'

The king's smile returns and he stands, sauntering over to the two women.

'And when he's finished, you'll both undress him.'

That causes all three of them to pause, eyes turning to him as Alistair asks;

'But... we won. Why?'

'I won, Alistair. You sat and drank wine with no input. As far as I'm concerned, you have no business in reaping the spoils of my victory.'

Lips part again, as if to complain, and Cullen hurries to cut him off.

'You won't find your service unsatisfactory, Alistair. You needn't worry.'

Those amber eyes light up again and he nods, taking up a position behind the two women, his hands resting in the smalls of their backs, a delighted grin on his face as he does so.

'Any preference on who's first, commander?'

'Elizabeth.'

There's a soft titter from Alistair, amused by the readiness of his answer and he moves to place a kiss on his wife's cheek before beginning to carry out his orders.

From his vantage point, Cullen can't see Alistair's hands working at the laces of Elizabeth's dress and so he settles for watching her reactions. Even as her bodice loosens, she stands calm, quiet and poised, her expression almost relaxed, eyes falling shut.

Next to her, Artemis watches, eyes flicking to Alistair's hands, then to where cloth falls free of the older woman's shoulders, baring delicate collarbones and lily pale skin. Her lips part, tongue darting out to moisten them, leaving a soft sheen on them, eyes tracking the movement of the cloth as it falls, halting on the timid swell of the other woman's chest.

'If you wish to join in, Artemis, I have no objections,' Cullen encourages, his voice pitched low, hoping to stoke her own lust and curiosity enough to make her act on her impulses.

There's a moment of indecision, uncertainty on her face as Elizabeth's eyes open, and the taller woman offers a smile, moments before she leans towards her, a hand finding Artemis's, tugging her closer. She follows readily, though Cullen can't help but note the wariness in her eyes as the distance between the two women shrinks.

Alistair reads his mind, stepping back, giving them space as he tries to conceal the grin that's threatening to cross his face.

The women seem not to notice, caught in eying each other, each unsure of whether to move forwards. Until Elizabeth moves without warning, a hand catching around the back of Artemis's neck as she takes a step forwards, dips down and crushes her mouth to the smaller woman's.

It wasn't what he'd imagined, no playfulness or gentleness. Instead facades of coquettish flirtations are abandoned in the need to act before the moment passes. There's no resistance from Artemis, yet she doesn't yield to the touch either, standing stiff under Elizabeth's attention, the hand on her neck bordering on possessive. Their lips are all but still, pressed together hard, Artemis's hands lifting to grip at Elizabeth's forearm.

He shifts upright, forwards, piqued interest warring with concern that he's tried for this too soon, or that Elizabeth will push too hard. Alistair stands ready, a slow nod when their eyes meet, reassuring that he's keeping as careful an eye on them as he. They cannot interfere, a moment that they've lead the women into, but which Elizabeth and Artemis need to conquer for themselves.

To his surprise, it's Artemis who breaks their stalemate, her head tilting, sliding lips together, and Elizabeth's shoulders fall, her grip easing, their lips softer. After a moment, they part, eyes meeting and Cullen feels the knot of concern in his chest ease as shy smiles grace softer lips. With a smile of his own, he leans back into the armchair again, wine in his hand once more.

'When you're quite ready, ladies, feel free to continue.'

Blue eyes, dark and light, flicker to him, and for the first time since meeting her, he sees a hint of bashfulness in Elizabeth's demeanour. This was new to her, something she was discovering as much as any of them, and doing it on proud display, nowhere to hide her reactions.

The light blush suits her, he finds, adding delicate colour to her pristine skin.

Behind them, Alistair smirks, his eyes dark with arousal, his breathing heavier, as he turns his gaze back to the women. Amusement at his wife's unusual shyness plays over his face.

'If I may?' He steps forwards, cautiously, into the womens' space, his hands rising to the loosened material of Elizabeth's bodice once again, a soft tug of suggestion.

Artemis smiles, a slight curve to the corner of her lips, and takes a step back, allowing Alistair the room to undress his wife.

From the armchair, Cullen watches, noting the way Alistair's hands are so proficient at loosening the ties of Elizabeth's dress, eager to see soft silk slide from her slender torso, halting its fall at the subtle flare of her hips.

Artemis moves now, taking the initiative, stepping forwards, her hands catching Alistair's, halting him for a breath before he guides her through the motions. She has to press against the taller woman in order to reach around her, and Cullen's breath hitches to see soft bodies pressed together, Alistair and Artemis working together now to slowly unwrap Elizabeth. Silk pools around her feet, reminiscent of the first time he'd seen her nude, but the air is different this time. There’s an aspect of familiarity to it that's becoming comforting despite the strangeness of the scene.

As material whispers onto the plush carpet, Artemis dips, gathering the expensive gown from the floor, and Cullen feels his cock twitch as she pauses at Elizabeth's feet, an inquisitive hand finding the slender woman's ankle. Her palm presses to skin, sliding up the length of the queen's almost intimidatingly toned legs. Her eyes are bright with intrigue, taking in the details of the woman, fingers finding a scar that follows the curve of her calf.

He watches as Elizabeth's head cocks, following Artemis's hand as it slides higher, and his own hand moves to his crotch, fingers tugging at the laces of his breeches to free himself as he takes a deep drink of wine. He catches Alistair's eye as he does so, the king grinning into ‘Lis's hair before cupping his wife's chin, tilting her head back, breaking her gaze as he captures her lips with his own.

The noise she makes sends a bolt of arousal to Cullen’s groin, excitement jolting his heart and stomach and he tugs himself free of soft fabric, his hand curling loosely around his hardening shaft. He doesn't need to stroke himself, not yet, the view in front of him more than enough to set his blood racing downwards as Artemis's small hands creep up Elizabeth's thighs, following the gentle flare of her hips.

She halts at her waist, still on her knees before her, the gown forgotten about as her fingertips skim over the shallow definition of her abdomen. The queen's stomach is flat, taut, though she lacks the heavy ridges that his own muscles sport, her musculature lighter, elegant, subtle curves to the lean lines.

There's a hitch in Elizabeth's breath as hands press to her stomach, her head still tilted back under Alistair's attentions, his lips leaving hers to kiss at her neck. Broad hands ease around her, fingers curling into the material of the thin breastband she's wearing, and Cullen takes himself in hand, fingers tighter about his shaft as Alistair peels the material from her.

It catches Artemis's attention as much as his own, his lover standing as the other woman is revealed, and he wonders if this will prove to be too much. She's done well so far, pushing herself further than he'd have expected from her, and he wouldn't blame her if she called it quits now. There's a faint tension across her shoulders again, her lips pressed together, eyes focused on Elizabeth's bare chest.

As if sensing Artemis's discomfort, Alistair shifts, his eyes finding hers though his lips never leave Elizabeth's throat, distracting her as his hands slide over her breasts, pink nipples disappearing behind his palms. The tension across her shoulders fades some and Alistair flashes a knowing smile before he turns his attention to Elizabeth's shoulder, his teeth grazing across its firm curve.

Cullen shifts again, leaning forward, his hands more firmly around himself, though he holds back his urge to stroke for now, more intrigued by his partner's behaviour than his own needs. With Elizabeth breasts safely ensconced in Alistair's hand, her confidence returns and she creeps closer again, a hair's breadth from touching the naked woman in front of her. Her hands find the king's, covering them lightly, as if the barrier allows her to acclimate before she moves upwards again, fingers chasing the lines of ribs beneath skin, until she reaches her neck, reaching upwards to cup at the older woman's strong jaw.

A thumb strokes at the deep scar that adorns Elizabeth's face, and ocean blue eyes flutter open, recognising that the touch on her face isn't her husband's. Copper eyebrows lift a fraction, one slim brow arching further, questioning, and she dips downwards a few inches, closing the distance between them as Artemis stands on tip toes, lips finding Elizabeth's again.

It's easier this time, he senses, slower as the act becomes more familiar to them, and relief courses through him as much as arousal. And then arousal takes point once more as Artemis shuffles closer to the taller woman, her clothed torso pressing against Elizabeth's bare flesh, her hands easing back down to her waist, holding there, trembling as she does.

Lips move slowly, pressed, testing, tasting as between them Alistair's hands squeeze gently at Elizabeth's chest, drawing a soft groan from her, and Artemis startles, backing up a step, her lips swollen. Pink colours her cheeks as she meets Alistair's eyes, then Elizabeth's in turn, suddenly shy once more, as though Elizabeth's noise has shocked her back to prudery.

Still, he's proud of what she's achieved today, and he smiles in spite of the thickening cock in his hand, meeting her gaze as she turns her head to him.

'No more than what you're comfortable with, Artemis.' He breathes and she nods, putting space between them again.

'Although...' he drawls, watching as Alistair's eyes light up.

'Although?'

'You've been very...hands on. I wonder if there's anything you'd like to...experience. Perhaps something our guests could help with?'

Her breath catches, some thought flickering behind pale blue eyes and he knows there's something there, something she wants to try and he fights to hide the smirk that threatens to cross his lips. He needs to coax this from her and he tightens his fist, giving himself a leisurely tug, making a show of it as he slumps back into his armchair. Her eyes flick to him, watching his hand as it strokes his length, and he knows that lust will win this time.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the royal couple, Elizabeth skinning out of her smalls, and retreating back into the warmth of Alistair's embrace. Artemis follows his gaze a moment later, her eyes falling to her naked form again before jerking away, her cheeks reddening once more.

'What would you like, Artemis?' he asks, voice pitched low to catch her attention and her eyes find him again, wide and dark with lust. She shifts under the scrutiny of the group, eyes flicking between the three of them, unsure whom she was supposed to be looking at now, or who would offer her a way out.

When none is forthcoming, he smiles softly back at her, ready to accept that she's too uncomfortable on this occasion.

And then she speaks, barely more than a whisper, her lips moving rapidly. He doesn't catch what she says, but Elizabeth does, her own smile forming.

'I didn't catch that,' he prompts, pleased when her eyes widen again.

'I...'

'If you can say it to them, you can say it to me, can you not?'

She bites at her lip before nodding, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

'I said I'd like to be with them...both.'

He smiles gently again, nodding, pleased that she'd admitted it.

'Well...let's continue with the plan then.'

Alistair grins, his smile not quite reaching his ears, tempered by a slyness that speaks of lust. He places a fond peck on Elizabeth's cheek before approaching Artemis. He draws her into his arms, a gentle, testing kiss on her lips that she returns with an enthusiasm that compels him to devour her mouth seconds later.

He's rougher with her than he has been before, though Cullen knows the man is holding back the full range of his strength in an effort not to be too boorish. Still, his hands are firmer than they'd been when the last time they coupled, gripping at her, pressing her against him until her fingertips grow sharp and tense against his bicep.

It sends a pang of worry through Cullen for a moment, concerned that his demands will sour her to his advances; too much, too soon. But when the kiss breaks he catches sight of her face flushed pink, her hair dishevelled, eyes wide with disbelief until she grins back at him, pleased by the nature of his affections.

She dives back into him, mouth catching his, hands curling about his neck, dragging him down to her until their bodies bow together, her hands sliding from his neck to clutch at broad shoulders and firm biceps.

It's a joy to watch her respond to him, his partner normally so reserved when it comes to these intimate moments, though he knows there's so much she wants to try. Not for the first time, he wonders at the change in her these few days have wrought, watching her become bolder, more wanton, flourishing now that there's no one to bear down on her as there had always been before.

He gives himself another stroke, slow and heavy, his eyes straying from Artemis and Alistair to Elizabeth, curious as she drifts over to them, feet silent on plush carpet. She dips, plucking her gown that Artemis has forgotten about from the floor, tossing the material over a nearby chair, the action an excuse to creep closer to the couple.

She hovers behind them, studying them, searching for a way in when Alistair breaks the kiss he's sharing with Artemis. His eyes flick to his queen's, holding it as his mouth descends on Artemis's neck, nipping hard enough to make her gasp. In the seconds that she's distracted his hands rush downwards, a firm squeeze against her rump before he hoists her upwards, into his arms. Her legs wrap around his hips without encouragement, the fabric of her skirts rucked up high to allow her the freedom to grip him as her hands cling to his shoulders.

The queen knows her cue. With Artemis's back now presented to her as Alistair nips at her neck, the taller woman eases closer, the lightest touch of fingertips to Artemis's bare shoulders, alerting the inquisitor to her presence.

He wonders if she can feel Elizabeth's warm breath on the back of her neck.

With meticulous motions, the warden rests her hands on Artemis's tanned shoulders, thumbs running idly over her skin, savouring, it seems, the softness beneath them, until the deep red knot of Artemis's dress, resting at the base of her neck, becomes too irresistible. Pale fingers work it with ease, uncoiling straps until they loosen, falling apart, exposing unbroken lines of her shoulders.

His own breath catches, though he disguises it with a short cough, when Elizabeth presses her palms to Artemis's back once more, running down the length of her spine to the laces of her dress, just beneath her shoulder blades. She sets to undoing those too, loosening the bodice as Alistair had done for her, until the material begins to slip free of her, held in place only by Alistair's chest pressed to hers.

With his hand tight around his cock now, Cullen groans low in his throat, hips beginning to shuffle as he curls his fist upwards. In front of him, Elizabeth shifts ever forward, her hands gliding down Artemis's ribs, teasing material from between her and Alistair. The tips of her own bare breasts brush against the richly coloured skin of Artemis's back as she does so, pink nipples hardening, her breath stuttering for a second before she continues with her task of undressing Artemis, her face set with determination.

And he's not the only one who's noticed. Alistair's lips, still at Artemis's collarbone, pause in their motions as he lifts his eyes, meeting his wife's over Artemis's shoulder. With another grin, he straightens, adjusting Artemis's weight until she leans against him, and reaches out for Elizabeth, taking her hand, tugging her forwards until she's pushing against the smaller woman's back, pinning her between them.

It elicits another groan from Cullen, louder this time, the sight of his lovers' bodies pressed together tightly evoking a wave of heat in his loins. His entertainers pick up on it too, heads turning at the sounds of his pleasure, breaking the trance between the three.

'Are you sure you don't need a hand there, Cullen?' Alistair titters, his hands tightening on Artemis's thighs, his attention wavering as Elizabeth kisses at Artemis's shoulder.

'I'm...' He swallows as he catches a glimpse of Elizabeth's white teeth grazing Artemis's shoulder, surprised and far too aroused when his partner tilts her head, allowing the woman better access. It takes only moments for their lips to meet again, sliding together again, firmer now, familiarity setting in as inhibitions fade.

He shakes his head, gathering his thoughts again, despite the insistent pressure that's gathered in his loins, the subtle throb that's taking over his body.

'I'm fine, Alistair. Carry on.'

The king flashes a smile before turning his attention back to the women, watching enraptured for a moment as they kiss before he slowly sets Artemis back down. It breaks their kiss as he lowers her, and Elizabeth glances to him, something akin to disappointment present in her gaze. Cullen is pleased to see the expression mirrored on Artemis's face.

With the smaller woman's feet back on the ground, the other couple set to finishing their task, hands finding laces and buttons, Alistair easing the cotton of Artemis's dress over her hips, Elizabeth sinking to the floor to roll dark stockings from tanned legs. The garment is cast aside, followed by the gown, until she stands between them in her smalls, trembling. He's not sure whether it's nerves, or anticipation. Or perhaps, more likely, a mixture of the two.

It's Alistair that takes her into his arms, soothing nerves, whispering into her ear and she shakes her head, eyes finding Cullen's. Whatever she sees in his gaze seems to bolster her and she stands on tiptoes, catching Alistair's lips for a brief kiss before turning in his arms and beckoning Elizabeth closer.

There's no hesitation on the queen's part and she glides over, allowing Artemis to reach up to her, as she had with Alistair, pressing together for a chaste kiss. As they part, Cullen catches sight of Alistair's hands, fingers winding into the laces at the back of Artemis's bustier, loosening them with gentle pulls until the stiff material parts from her skin, enough to slide his hands beneath and guide the garment upwards.

If his lover is hesitant at the prospect of being bare breasted when so close to another woman, she shows no sign of it, allowing Alistair to free her of the constricting underwear. He pauses when he's tossed the garment aside, shuffling up closer to her backside, arms encircling her again, hands soothing the marks pressed into her skin from her clothing before cupping at heavy breasts, his thumb playing over her nipples as they stiffen. There's a soft intake of breath at the motion, and then his hands are shifting down again.

He gives no particular ceremony to her knickers, taking them in hand and pushing them from her hips, watching with a smirk as the slinky fabric glides down her legs and onto the floor.

She's barely stepped out of them before she's grasping at Elizabeth's hands and turning to face the king, intent clear on her face, and Cullen chuckles as the man is all but assaulted by the two women. The expensive jerkin is almost torn from him in their fervour, fine soft leather left on the floor, Artemis's mouth crashing against Alistair's as her hands tug at his silk tunic and the linen undershirt beneath it. But even as Artemis works to bare his upper body, Elizabeth is easing doeskin breeches down his hips, kissing at pale thighs as she sinks to the floor with the clothing. She halts at his feet, unbuckling long boots, coaxing his legs from them.

With a glance upwards and a wicked grin, she rises on her knees until she's level with his hips, eying straining smalls before she tears them from him. His shaft, already fully hard, juts free and the queen wastes no time in swallowing the head, her hands wrapping about the rest of the length.

A groan leaves Cullen's throat, unbidden, hips arching in empathy as he imagines her mouth around his own cock, watching through hooded lids as she sinks further onto Alistair's length. The man's head reclines, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he stands, allowing Artemis room to kiss and lick at his chest, her hands tracing the soft ridges and swells of his torso.

He can't help but tighten his grip around his own shaft, licking his lips as he watches Elizabeth bob deeper and deeper on Alistair's shaft, cheeks hollowing as she does, sucking hard on him. Heat coils low in his belly, tension spreading through his groin and thighs, pressure building in the root of his cock. He allows himself this, feeling a familiar rhythm set itself through his muscles, his hips stirring, toes curling as he moves languidly, his hand twisting upwards on his length as Elizabeth swallows Alistair.

Control slips, his concentration and determination not to react too soon ebbing as he watches the display before him. Alistair's hand has found Artemis's breast, kneading at the full flesh as his thumb rubs over her nipple. In return, his partner wedges herself against the king, somehow drawing one of his legs between hers and she presses against it, beginning to rock.

He's not sure whose rhythm he's following, if any, tempos not yet synchronised, but somehow working together, driving him further down the path. Arching his hips, his eyes fall shut as he’s tugging at his length, his cock throbbing heavily. His eyes flutter open again, on a whim, his gaze falling on his lovers and he finds himself blushing to realise that he has the attention of all three of them, knowing smiles and hushed titters greeting him.

'I take it we're doing well to entertaining you, Commander?' Alistair jests, his voice thick with arousal. Elizabeth has drawn off his now glistening cock, her lips shining and she smiles back at Cullen before turning her attention back to her husband's member, mouthing at the engorged head and drawing a whimper from him.

'Yes...' Cullen hisses, ignoring the heat on his cheeks, though he loosens his hand for a moment, too focused on the movement of Elizabeth's lips about her lover's shaft. She sinks lower again, and from the corner of her eye, he notices Artemis biting her lower lip, as enraptured by the display as he is.

'Perhaps,' he pants, tightening his grip again, '...perhaps Artemis would like to have a taste?'

The words have the desired effect, Elizabeth surprising him with her willingness to obey, and she pulls her mouth off with a quiet pop, shuffling on her knees to make room for Artemis.

His love is tentative with her motions, pressing a kiss to the engorged head before slipping her lips around the bulb, suckling at him in a way that has Alistair moaning, a brawny hand finding her hair and gripping it. The other finds Elizabeth's, curling into it and she looks up at her husband, smiling fondly before her gaze flickers to Artemis, watching her swallow down Alistair's thick shaft as best she can.

He wonders if the queen feels the same sense of jealousy that he does when he watches Artemis touch Alistair, wanting to be there, but enjoying the scene nevertheless. The king reacts differently to Artemis than he does his wife, more restrained, his hips stock still though his hands tighten in long manes, gold and copper twisted between his fingers until his hips give an unexpected forceful buck.

The sight is enough to force a heavy wave of arousal over him, making his cock jump in his hand and he squeezes instinctively, his thumb swiping at the bead of moisture at its tip.

'Enough.' The word spills from mouth, teeth clenched to stave off the impending waves of pleasure. He doesn't want this to end just yet.

Artemis pulls free of Alistair, easing back from him, her disappointed pout complimented by his groans and Cullen can't help but notice that the other man's grip only just loosens on her hair. She doesn't seem to mind in the slightest.

'Alistair.' He grunts, sitting up in his armchair, trying to regain some sense of authority. It's a struggle with his cock standing proud and hard, the head purple as blood pulses, bringing with it waves of heady pressure.

The redhead's eyes flick to meet his, blown with lust, his face all but drawn with hunger.

'On the floor, on your back,' Cullen orders, pleased with how readily Alistair complies, and he watches muscles roll beneath pale skin as Alistair sinks into plush carpet, until the only thing standing straight is his cock. He fists his shaft as soon as he's settled, maintaining the thickness of his erection with steady pressure and Cullen finds himself entranced by the motion of his hand rolling back and forth along hard flesh, distracted by memories of that morning.

He wants to grind against him again, to take him in his mouth and suck until he spills, to have his king completely submissive beneath him, lost in a haze of lust that only he can deliver.

In time, he thinks, before turning his gaze to Artemis, his love's pale blue eyes flicking between his own face and Alistair's length, torn between where her loyalties lie now. He can't help but smirk, a perfect remedy for her playing through his mind.

'Artemis,' he calls, voice pitched low. He's back in control of himself again as her eyes widen, awaiting his command. 'I'd like you to climb atop Alistair. Straddle his hips.'

She hurries to obey, sinking to the floor next to Alistair and sliding her body over his, her arms bracketing his chest. She lowers herself just enough to allow the tips of her nipples to brush against his body as she leans in for a kiss, slow and chaste, before edging backwards, her rump high in the air as she hovers above Alistair's proud member.

He knows she won't allow herself to sink upon him until she has his say so, and he toys with the idea of making her wait. It would be delicious to watch, seeing her desperate, whimpering with need, her wetness just inches from Alistair's thick head. He could make her watch as he enacted the next part of his plan, and he’s certain that will be enough to tip him over the edge.

But it's not what he wants. Not yet. For now he wants to see her give herself over to lust, revel in the pleasure that he knows Alistair can give her. He wants to watch the details of her body's movements as she comes; the roll of her hips and the stutter in her breath.

'Are you ready, Artemis?'

It's a rhetorical question, mostly, her inner thighs almost shimmering with her excitement seeping from swollen folds. But he wants to hear her say it nevertheless.

'Yes,' she murmurs, voice little more than a whisper, and he tuts, making sure she hears his disapproval.

'What was that?'

'I...yes, I'm ready, Cullen. Please, I'm ready.'

'What are you ready for?'

The words are unbidden, springing forth with ease in this game, but he wonders for a moment if he's pushed it too far, if it's too soon for this just yet. Her eyes flick to Elizabeth, who watches with quiet intrigue, standing still, as if the queen will judge her for her answer. And still, she indulges him.

'I'm ready for Alistair,' she breathes, her face all but resting on the man's chest, 'I'm ready to have him inside me.'

'I think you are, aren't you?' He smiles, savouring the heavy throb in his cock that's prompted by her words. 'When you're ready then, Artemis. I want you to take him.'

It doesn't take her a moment to comply, and he leans forwards to give himself a better view, gripping his cock hard as she sinks onto Alistair's impressive girth. Lips part as he breaches her, glistening tender pink between honey skin and soft blonde curls, a soft grunt from Alistair as the ridge of his head disappears inside her. He seizes her hips, holding her steady, slowing her descent, and Cullen swallows hard, watching as inch by inch sinks into her warmth, until she meets his hips with her own.

There's a pause, a collective intake of breath from all of the room's occupants as she settles against him, all eyes on them.

Artemis's eyes are closed now, but Cullen knows she's envisioning them watching her, her back arching as her shoulders pull back, leaving her glorious breasts on prominent display. The sight of her makes him throb again, the sensation only intensifying as her hips give an experimental roll. Beneath her, Alistair bucks, plunging into her again, wringing soft grunts from both of them.

'Steady now,' Cullen breathes, his heart thumping in his chest as he looks to the king. 'You're not finished yet.'

Alistair's head cocks, pressed into the plush carpet, an eyebrow lifting, though it's clear his attention his elsewhere. There's a wicked grin on his lips nevertheless, anticipating what's yet to come.

'Elizabeth, if you'd be so kind.' He gestures for her to approach Alistair, noting the way she regards him for a moment before following his orders, lowering herself to the floor beside her husband's head. 'Now, straddle him.'

This time she scurries to obey, swinging a long leg over Alistair's head, leaving her knelt above him, her hands bracing on his chest as she meets Artemis's eyes.

'I'm certain I don't need to tell you what to do next, your majesty.'

She descends without her usual finesse, thighs spreading as she sinks until she's an inch from Alistair's waiting mouth. Pausing, her eyes flutter shut, and Cullen wonders if she enjoys the feeling of Alistair's hot breath against her curls. She must, he concludes, if her hesitance is anything to go by, for Alistair's hands leave Artemis's, gripping Elizabeth's thighs instead and forcing her down, onto his open mouth.

And then they pause again, the three of them entangled, ready and waiting for his commands.

'Don't hold back.'

The words are all but cut off by the sudden surge of movement from his lovers, Alistair bucking his hips even as he mouths and licks at Elizabeth's folds, noises of contentment drifting from between her thighs.

For once, Elizabeth seems at a loss for what to do, her fingers digging into Alistair's muscled chest, her head craned back as breathy moans escape her. Her hips are rolling in time with his motions, grinding down against his face, lost in the onslaught of sensation. But her eyes are open still, staring up at the high ceiling, locked onto some unseen point that seems to keep her anchored.

''Lis,' he calls, watching her as she detaches her gaze and turns it to him, her eyes already unfocused. 'You could be doing something with your hands and mouth, couldn't you?' He inclines his head towards Artemis, his own lover bouncing on Alistair's cock, her thick thighs flexing with each motion.

Storm blue eyes hesitate on his for a moment before blinking, comprehending, and she turns her attention to the woman in front of her, eyes falling to watch the bounce and sway of full breasts. Hands catch the younger woman's neck, encouraging her closer, and there's a burst of pleasure that Cullen had not anticipated when their lips slant together, his cock feeling impossibly hard now. The fire in his belly returns with full force, coiling and building, the pressure in his cock all but unbearable even as he tries to stave off the inevitable.

And then Elizabeth's hands drift downwards, caressing over Artemis's slim shoulders, following her ribs downwards, until her fingertips glide over hard nipples, her palms moving to cup the weight of Artemis's bust.

In the heat of the moment, all sense of propriety is lost, his love now free in her reactions. She moans softly into the older woman's mouth, just loud enough for him to hear, and his cock jerks again, weeping now, drops of precum pattering onto his breeches.

Through the haze of his lust, he forgets himself, enraptured with the scene before him; the continuous roll and flow of bodies as they find their rhythm, hands gripping onto skin as gold and red hair spills over arched backs, the steady slap of flesh and moans of delight. It leaves him feeling lightheaded, thrusting into his own hot hand to match their tempo, his heart hammering in his chest as sweat coats his skin, obscured still by his clothing.

It doesn't matter now, too close to the edge to do anything about it, and he grunts, growls, breathing hard as soft foreskin rolls over the swollen head of his shaft. He tries to focus on details, an effort to slow his rapid climb towards his climax, but all he can see now is the glisten on Alistair's cock as he plunges back into Artemis's body, smell the scent of their mingled arousals, and when Alistair suddenly arches, groaning, spilling, it causes a reaction that none of them can deny.

He catches it as if the world has been slowed around him; the moan that pours from Alistair, rumbling, vibrating through Elizabeth's body, sending her toppling over her own peak, her body snapping taught. Her mouth is still meshed with Artemis's, her cries muffled and met by his love's own at Alistair's frenzied pounding.

It hits him last, as if a shockwave rolling out from the display before him, and he arches, chokes back his grunts as the pressure in his cock releases in a single, ecstatic rush, heat and silence claiming him as hot wetness spills over his hand.

His own breathing, ragged, laboured, is what brings him back to himself and Cullen takes a deep breath, calming his blood as his length begins to soften in his palm. Cracking an eye open, he shifts, sitting upright from where he'd slumped in his chair, a fond smile sweeping his face as his eyes come to rest on the scene before him.

Elizabeth has rolled off Alistair in the moment that his consciousness has been elsewhere, lying pressed against him now, her eyes warm and glittering as she looks about the room, offering him a smile when she notices him watching her.

Returning it, he leans forwards again, wiping his hand on his trousers and sliding off his chair to approach the threesome, his hand running the length of Artemis's back as soon as he's close enough. She whines at the touch, half asleep already, turning her head from where it lies on Alistair's broad chest, bouncing with the chuckle the king gives. Gold strands obscure her face and he brushes them back behind her ear gently, pressing a kiss to her temple as she lifts herself from atop Alistair.

'Well...' Alistair murmurs, his voice muffled in his post coital haze, '...never done that before.'

There's a lazy grin on his face as he eases an amber eye open, amusement present again, and he turns for a kiss with Elizabeth, though not before she wipes the worst of her own arousal from his lips.

'I imagine that's true for all of us,' Cullen muses, smiling back at the man as he wraps his arms around Artemis, easing her from atop Alistair's body and into his own lap. She mumbles something, half asleep, and he sniggers into her hair.

'I think it may be best if I get her ladyship into bed,' he murmurs, lifting her easily.

'Aww, but we've already done that,' Alistair complains, earning him a light slap to the chest from Elizabeth.

Cullen chuckles again, turning with his love in his arms and carrying her towards the bed, startled when ‘Lis suddenly appears besides him. She's so quiet when she moves, he thinks, allowing her to pull back the covers of the bed so he can set Artemis down and cover her, before turning back to his guests.

Alistair kneels on the floor still, struggling to stand, apparently exhausted, and he hurries to his side now, the queen following suit and helping him ease the large man to his feet.

'Steady,' Cullen murmurs, his nose catching the odd, intermingled scent of the threesome and somewhere in his gut he feels a pang of jealousy, that he'd not partaken. As if reading his thoughts, Alistair butts against him, a kiss laid on his cheek.

'Next time, Cullen, I promise.'

It's a promise that he can't possibly make, of course. There might not even be a next time and Cullen is reminded that the royals will, eventually, have to return to Ferelden. Come to think of it, it wouldn't be long now, a few days, perhaps a week if they could find excuses to delay leaving, and he frowns to himself.

It's Elizabeth who moves into him now, pressing against him, warm and pliant, and she smiles, reassuring, a sharp glint in her eye.

'You need not worry, Cullen. I am not intending to leave here without at least one more...encounter.'

'You have a plan then?'

'Not yet. But I'm certain I can think of something. But...perhaps we should wait a day or so. We all need our rest, I think.'

Next to her, Alistair nods.

'That's probably a good idea. I don't know about you two, but I am exhausted.'

Elizabeth scoffs.

'You were on your back for most of the work.'

'Well my tongue's exhausted.'

'And yet still not enough to silence you,' Cullen jokes, earning himself a mock scowl from his king while Elizabeth laughs in earnest.

'At any rate, we had best return to our quarters. I worry that our attendants will begin to wonder where we are,' Elizabeth suggests, and Cullen knows that their evening has drawn to an end.

'Then I'll bid you both a good night.' Cullen smiles, his eyes following Alistair as the man stoops to gather his clothing and dresses quickly.

'And you, Cullen,' Alistair replies, stepping in for another kiss on the cheek, pausing when Cullen takes Elizabeth's hand, offering her a sweeping kiss across its back.

'My lady.'

She smiles back, an appreciative nod, before she turns, her arm in Alistair's, and he lingers until he hears the door click shut behind them before he strips and retires to bed, drawing Artemis into his arms once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed the chapter (or if you have concrit to share) please let me know. Kudos, comments, subscriptions, bookmarks etc. etc. always greatly appreciated.
> 
> Until next chapter :)


	18. Testing her limits (NSFW - Cullen x Elizabeth x Alistair)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a new experience for Queen Elizabeth...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once again lovely readers. As always, apologies for lateness of updating, and all the love and thanks I have for those of you who have managed to make it this far, and especially to those who have kudos'd commented and bookmarked etc. etc.
> 
> Enjoy!

'Soooo...?' Comes the question she'd been waiting for all night and into the next morning.

Elizabeth pauses, a strawberry halfway to her mouth as Alistair's gaze catches hers, the rich amber of his eyes almost sparkling with the mischief they hold. She knows exactly what he wants, but if he's going to play this game, so is she.

She pops the strawberry into her mouth, chewing slowly, watching the smirk on his lips curl ever more upwards. He's well aware that she's toying with him; this scenario has occurred more than once over the course of their relationship, like some odd ritual they feel the need to perform whenever either of them is not entirely forthcoming.

Strawberry swallowed, she reaches for the dainty china cup that sits upon the table, taking a sip of sweet, dark tea.

'So...what?’ she asks at length.

'You know.'

'Do I?'

His smirk broadens, turning into a grin now as he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair, the tip of his bare toe finding her foot.

'Come on, Lis. Tell me.'

A roll of her eyes as she takes another sip of tea before she fixes him with as stern a glare as she can manage under the onslaught of his playfulness.

'Very well. But I expect recompense.'

'Anything my lady desires.'

His toe creeps higher, tracing her ankle before he reaches further, rubbing gently at her calf with the side of his foot. An eyebrow raises as he does so and she chuckles, taking his meaning.

'Perhaps we should save that for later.'

'Oh? Feeling a tad worn out, are we?'

'Me? Never. I'm merely conserving my energy.'

'Well that sounds saucy.'

'Quite.'

'But first...'

'Yes!' His eyes light up as she brings the topic back to that which he'd wanted to discuss in the first place.

'What did you want to know?'

'Was it...well, did you enjoy it?'

'I believe I made that fairly apparent last night.'

He chuckles at that, and she almost blushes to remember the noises she'd made as he had licked at her.

'Well yes, you did but, I didn't have the best view,' he answers before pausing, his brow creasing. 'No wait. I did have the best view, sort of. It was a lovely view but a very narrow, detailed, couldn't-really-see-what-was-happening-above sort of view.'

Smiling at her husband's familiar babbling, Elizabeth stretches, arching her back before settling more comfortably into her chair, tea in hand once again.

'It was...different,' she finally answers, casting her mind back to the events that had occurred last night. 'I don't know what I was expecting, but it was and wasn't it.'

'That's very cryptic.'

'It was enjoyable but...I feel like I could have gone further. Kissing and touching is all very pleasant but...'

'You wanted more?'

'Yes and no. It was at first, and very thrilling. I wouldn't want to push Artemis to more than she is comfortable with but if she'd allow it...I'd like to try more.'

'Such as?' her husband asks, and she can't help but notice how his pupils have dilated, his voice turning rough.

'She is a very beautiful woman. More feminine than I. I'd like to explore that.'

'Explore that how?' he prompts again, leaning forwards on the table now, the bacon on his plate all but abandoned. He wants details, something to imagine, but more than that, he wants to know what she desires, wants to hear it from her own lips.

'I think I would like to kiss her more. Properly. Feel her tongue in my mouth, and taste her, maybe hold her against me, press her chest to mine. Maybe slide my hands down until I'm cupping her breasts fully. There's something about feeling a stiff nipple under your palm...'

There's a soft groan from across the table, one she hadn't expected, and she watches Alistair as he squirms in his chair, a voyeur to her fantasies. The bulge in his loose trousers is painfully apparent, and though this wasn't quite what she'd had in mind, she can't help but want to see how far she can take him with her words alone.

'Go on.'

His hand rests on his thigh, fingers pressing into firm muscle as he tries to resist the urge to touch himself.

Elizabeth smiles.

'Well, I would feel her for a while, the weight of her breasts in my hands, firm but supple, soft. I think I'd wait until both her nipples were hard, until I could see them pushing through her gown. Then I'd push my hand down inside her dress, run my fingers over her, pinch her until I know she wants more. I'd pull her dress down, beneath her breasts, so I could see them properly and then I think I would...'

'Yes?' Alistair's word is breathless, pushed between parted lips, his fingers tighter against his thigh, inching higher towards his groin.

'I've always wondered what it feels like for you, when you suckle on me. I know I enjoy it, and it always seems like you do too, but I'd like to try it. Maybe kiss her, then lick her, then suck on her, make her arch for me.'

'I...' Her husband swallows, his throat thick as he looks at her, eyes dark. 'I want to see that.'

'Do you?'

He nods, hand creeping towards his crotch, faster now.

'What else would you like to see?' she asks, feeling her own breathing growing faster, a familiar tingle in her core that speaks of arousal.

'Anything,' he mutters, fingers finding the ties of his breeches, loosening them.

'Anything?' She watches his fingers ease the material over his groin, pulling away the fabric and cloth beneath until his head peeks out from the small opening he's made. He's red already, swelling rapidly, stiffer by the second until he's standing proud.

'Well, I suppose the inevitable path is southwards, isn't it?' she asks, imagining the golden expanse of Artemis's abdomen, its subtle outward curve.

'I want to kiss all the way down and see how soft she is. And maybe feel down her back as I sink to my knees in front of her, grip her backside as I pull her closer to me.'

There's a whimper from her husband now and he closes his fingers around himself, squeezing upwards with a long firm stroke.

'I've long wondered what a woman would taste like. Ever since you first tried it yourself. You seemed so surprised, but so pleased...'

'Salt,' he murmurs, fisting his shaft, head tilted to rest against the chair, 'salt and something...tangy. But thick, almost creamy.'

She pauses, mulling it over in her mind, the description leaving her concerned. Perhaps it wasn't what she had thought it would be.

'It...takes a moment to get used to,' Alistair reassures her, his hand slowing as he looks at her through lidded eyes, 'but when you do, it's...addictive.'

'What would you have me do then? Would you have me taste her?'

'Yes.'

'Pull her to me and kiss her? Her legs over my shoulders as I part her folds? Perhaps lick her hard, just once?'

'With the flat of your tongue,' he urges, 'so you can taste her, feel her.' His breathing speeds up as he speaks, thrusting lazily into his hand now.

'Feel her?'

'Yes,' he sighs, a whine through his nose as he squeezes his head through his fist, 'so...soft and warm under your tongue as she squirms against you.'

The notion sends a shiver of pleasure through her, the idea of the inquisitor shuddering at her attentions, pulsing against her tongue, leaking pleasure with every throb and swell of her sex.

'I would like to suck on her too,' she muses, 'flick my tongue against her...' To her own surprise, a swell of shyness takes her, her cheeks tingling with self consciousness.

Alistair's head lifts from where it rests against his chair.

'Her...?' he prompts, an eyebrow lifted, and his hand stills, his attention centering on her. 'My dear wife, are you blushing?'

'I...I may be,' she admits, feeling her face grow warmer, '...I've never had to...put words to this before.'

'But my dear,' he drawls, his face lit by amusement now, his arousal an afterthought, 'you're always so forthcoming with these things. You're not bothered about saying one little word are you?'

She purses her lips, unsure how to take his teasing, and pride makes her straighten her spine as she stares into her husband's amused gaze.

'Her...rosebud,' she finishes, not sure where the word had come from.

Alistair laughs, rich and warm, standing and advancing on her, his gaze darkening again.

'Rosebud, is it?' he asks, sinking to his knees before her and gently encouraging her legs apart. 'I think I like that.'

She doesn't know how the tables have suddenly turned, how it's her who's now on the receiving end. Not that she minds, she thinks, as he hooks her legs over his shoulders.

'Do you know what the best part about a rosebud is?'

'Having one?' she asks, his breath warm against her inner thighs as he hikes her nightdress up to her hips. He chuckles before breathing over her gently, a soft puff of air that makes her shiver with anticipation.

'I suppose that's a fair point. But not what I meant. Do you know what the best part about having one under your tongue is?'

'Tell me.'

'It's the way it twitches.'

His thumbs press to her outer lips, easing them apart, exposing her to him for a long, leisurely lick, just as she'd imagined doing to Artemis. It's difficult not to groan and her hands seize at the breakfast table, clinging to it. This isn't anything they haven't done before, Alistair enjoyed worshiping her at any opportunity, but this was different. Now, her thoughts stray to Artemis, to the noises she would make, if it were her between the Inquisitor’s legs.

She breathes deeply, stilling herself, her body rigid with anticipation, her husband's tongue retreating for a moment, taking its slick warmth with it. When he returns, she feels it, that twitch as the tip of his tongue dances along hard flesh, and she wonders how it feels to him, even as she squirms and a gasp bursts from her.

'See? Good for you and me.' He seals his lips around the nub for a breath, sucking lightly, before releasing it with a quiet pop.

'Ah-hah.' It's all she can manage, his hands gripping her backside as her fingernails attempt to gouge into the wooden table.

'And maybe later, you can try it with our Inquisitor.'

'Maybe...if she allows it.' She pants, grinding into him now, and her actions must speak to him, for he pulls her hard against him, his tongue flicking and laving at her, leaving her writhing against him.

It's too much. For so many days now, her body had been subjected to such exquisite pleasure at the hands of her lovers, and she finds herself reacting to the smallest stimuli, almost too sensitive to the onslaught. Her core clenches before she can even think to steel herself against her climax, pleasure flooding hot and urgent and she bucks into his mouth, gasping as the unplanned orgasm overwhelms her.

Quiet chuckles ring in her ears as her breathing calms, and she looks down to see Alistair's head resting on her thigh, his eyes warm as he watches her. Pushing herself up, she can't help but drop her gaze into his lap, expecting to see his hardness waiting for her. Instead, he's softening, his breeches damp with spots of his seed, his open left palm coated white and sticky.

'Oh...' she breathes, sitting up. He smiles back.

'No need to worry, my love. I just thought I'd take care of it for now. I'm certain you'll pay me back tenfold, later.'

'You have something in mind then?'

'I do, as it happens.'

'And what would that be?' Her breath returns to her as he climbs to his feet, watching as he strips of his nightwear, wiping himself down with it. The sight is distracting, the subtle swell and dip of muscles rippling across his abdomen as he moves.

When he's decided he's clean enough, he turns back to her, scooping her into his arms, and Elizabeth wraps her legs around his waist, her arms locking behind his neck.

'Well,' he offers a kiss, pecking against her lips as he looks up at her, '...our poor Commander was left out last time. And Artemis seemed so tired. I thought he might want to play with us tonight.'

'I see. And what, dear husband, were you thinking of?'

'Oh, I thought you might have some thoughts on that.' He chuckles.

She laughs with him, well aware that he knows the one experience she's always wanted to try, but has never had the opportunity to. Until now.

'Do you think he'd be willing?'

'I’d stake my cheese cellar on it. Maybe. Besides it's not like he's never...um...,' Alistair bit his lip, clearly searching for the right words, '...done that sort of thing. With that, you know, part. Before.’

'You mean, the royal arse has seen its share of scepters?'

He flushes at that, his cheeks quickly colouring a deep red.

'Well, just the one, on occasion.'

Laughing, Elizabeth pulls back from her husband, a brief peck on his cheek before he sets her back onto the chair, just as a knock raps heavy on the door.

'A moment,' Elizabeth calls, smirking as Alistair pulls on a fresh pair of breeches. Her husband disappears into the bathing room as she calls in their attendants. In short order, she and Alistair are bathed, dressed and groomed, ready for the day ahead of them. It was going to be a long one, to be sure.

Shortly after they had arrived, Josephine had informed them that there were a number of people present at the castle who would be appreciative of the opportunity to meet them during their stay. And so they had put aside some time to meet with them, reasoning that it would be a good opportunity to see how the Inquisition’s staff viewed them. Particularly those of them that were originally from Ferelden.

She hadn't realised there would be quite so many.

Most, they found, were indeed Fereldan nationals interested in finding out the state of things back home since the rifts had been sealed. And since the mage rebellion had quietened, a fact that seemed more important to most than the breach itself. So much so that she noticed a few glances at her husband that seemed less than pleased, despite their reassurances that the situation had been resolved. Apparently his decision had thrown Alistair's judgment into question and Elizabeth found herself defending her husband more than once, holding his hand as she calmly rationalised his actions to anyone who asked.

And yet still the issue came up, time and again, no matter how often they explained, no matter how much she defended him, or gave her assurance that his decision had been justified. After some hours, she could feel his irritation building. Beneath her own fingers, his hand twitched, annoyance becoming apparent in the set of his mouth, the restlessness in his posture. She knows he's going to blow moments before he does. 

His hand jerks free of hers as he stands, bracing instead on the chair’s arms as he glares at the nearest, newest accuser. The man shuffles back a step and she springs to her feet, taking Alistair's hand in her own again, a quiet warning, as much as a gesture to soothe him.

'I believe the king and I have addressed your concerns on the mage rebellion already, ser,' she says, and she can hear the edge to her own voice, irritated both on behalf of her husband and by his reactions. Maker, she loved Alistair, but his emotions still got the better of him even now. It was why she loved him and why she so often had to temper him.

'But, your Majesty,' the man sputters, '...so many lives were endangered, even lost. With the greatest respect...how do we know such things won't occur again?'

Alistair's fingers loosen beneath her own, and she knows that subtle gesture; defeat as plain as the slump of his shoulders as he sinks back into his chair, the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. How many times had he answered these questions when she'd been away?

It was a stark reminder of her absence, of how she'd forced him to make these decisions alone when she had promised him he would never have to. She couldn't blame him for the choices he made. He had wanted to help when he had offered the mages sanctuary, believed in their plight and understood. Had Grand Enchanter Fiona not involved the Venatori, he might never have witnessed such loss of faith from his people. But the people who suffered only saw the aftermath of that decision, not the thoughts or sentiment behind it. Nor could she blame them, when they had lost so much. If she ever met this Fiona, she'd see to it personally that she understood the damage she had done.

'Oh, I've learnt my lesson, trust me.' Alistair mutters, his tone caught between resignation and annoyance.

'Beginning your pardon, ser...'

'We have answered your question,' she breaks into the man's continued stuttering again. 'The rebel mages are no longer welcome in Ferelden. Any found will be dealt with by the Templars, and the mages who remain in their custody will continue to follow the rules of the circles, whatever the circle decides. It is a chantry matter now, not an issue for the crown.'

'I...yes of course, your Majesty.' The man offers a bow. 'Thank you for your time.'

He turns away and Elizabeth fights the urge to sigh, irritated at herself and how she’s handling the situation. The people were still shaken by rebellion, the last thing they needed was to believe that their leaders weren't interested in their wellbeing. With a silent prayer to the Maker she looks back to the retreating man;

'Ser...' she calls, catching his attention before he fully leaves their presence and he looks over his shoulder, trepidatious, but curious.

'Your Majesty?'

'I misspoke. Forgive me. I understand your concerns, but please also understand that the decisions that my husband and I take are done so with the intention of aiding all those we have the power to. Mages are our people, as much as any other, and deserve the opportunity to live equally. Those that sought to use that opportunity to displace others will be punished relative to their crimes. The banishment of those rebels, has, we hope, demonstrated that, and any further hostilities will not be tolerated.'

'I realise,’ Alistair pipes up, emboldened now, ‘that, given the damage that some mages caused, there are concerns about the decisions that we make. And I understand that fully. My pity for those who've lived their lives in the circle blinded me to how they might react when given freedom. I didn't expect the desire for bloodshed in some of those who escaped to be so strong. It was never my intention to put anyone at risk.'

The man peers at them for a moment, his brow creasing before he eventually nods.

'I think I understand, your Majesties. I believe you meant well...and that we can trust you.'

'Thank you.' Alistair breathes, and Elizabeth smiles as the man turns again, squeezing Alistair's hand.

'Do you really think they mean it?'

The voice, low, female, comes from those still waiting to be addressed, spoken just above the crowd's murmur. Whether it was intended to get their attention or not, Elizabeth doesn't know, but she seizes on the voice, anger surging at the skepticism in that tone.

'I'd thank you not to call us liars while hiding your face in the crowd,' she calls, and the effect is instantaneous. The murmuring of the crowd halts, shoulders tensing and voices falling silent. Beside her, Alistair stiffens, his dark eyes catching hers, confused and concerned, though the ever present pride he holds for her still shimmers there.

A brief shuffling, and the owner of the voice makes herself known, stepping forward out of the crowd.

Alistair's posture immediately becomes more vertical, his back straightening as he unfolds himself, shoulders pulling back. It's his warrior stance, as she's come to think of it, one that he uses as much in court as he did in battle, a warning to challengers of just who he is.

'Threnn.' His voice is tight as he addresses the woman, and Elizabeth resists the urge to roll her eyes at the woman. A former soldier who was unerringly loyal to Loghain, Threnn had been something of a nuisance from the moment they had laid claim to the throne. Although the woman had no power, no status with which she could make any real trouble, she was well respected among many of the soldiers. Enough so to sway some of them against the crown when she and Alistair had been coronated.

It had never come to anything, but her constant arguments and assertions that Loghain had been in the right quickly became tiresome. The only reason they had not relocated her sooner was the fact that she was skilled in her role. That, and moving someone who so outspokenly supported Loghain would have made it look like they were not willing to listen to any opinion other than their own. A move they couldn't afford to make, even now. 

After returning to Denerim, Elizabeth had found out within a week about her husband's decision to send Threnn to the Inquisition, a move which he had gotten away with only because of the passage of time; most people, though still grateful to them for their role in stopping the Blight, didn't mention it anymore. A decade was a long time, and there were more important things to concern themselves with now. But Threnn had never been one to let the subject go, and it had grown wearisome to even the soldiers who had once stood with her. There were a few still left, of course, but with every passing years, they lessened in number and any complaints became less vehement.

She almost felt sorry for the woman.

Standing before them, Threnn offered a bow so short it was barely recognisable as one, more of a dip of her head and shoulders.

'Your Majesties,' she greeted, her tone clipped.

'Good afternoon, Threnn,' Elizabeth finds herself greeting the woman first, before Alistair can vent his irritation at her. If they can appear civil to this almost-adversary in public, appear gracious, in fact, they could remain in control of anything she might try to use against them. 'You look well. I trust you've settled into the Inquisition?'

'I have, and I have your lord husband to thank for that.' She sends a glare to her king, which is met only by a stony silence from Alistair, his dark brows almost drawn into one as he tries to hold back his voice.

'From what I hear, the Inquisitor is pleased with your service. You have been acting as quartermaster here, have you not?' Elizabeth prompts, glossing over the tension forming between the two.

'I was up until Haven was destroyed. I was injured during the siege.' The former soldier gestures to her leg. 'I've been in a supervisory role since.'

'I'm sorry to hear that. I hope the injury doesn't trouble you too much.'

'Only enough to stop me doing my job,' the woman bites out, another sharp glance to Alistair as she speaks, as if he were personally responsible for the damage.

'Again, you have my sympathies. Now, was there something you wished to discuss, Threnn? I assume you have attended for a reason.'

'I came to see what King Alistair’s excuse was for his decision to let the rebel mages damage the Hinterlands so thoroughly. But it seems you've already answered that one for him.'

The comment rankles them both.

'I am quite capable of answering on my own behalf, thank you, Threnn. I would have thought after your time at the palace you would be aware of that,' Alistair answers, his voice oddly calm.

'Oh, I am, your Majesty. I've seen plenty of your ability to lead and make decisions for the last decade. I'm simply wondering when you'll actually become proficient at it.'

'And I bet you think Loghain would have made a wonderful monarch and never made a single mistake because the man practically pissed talent,' Alistair spits at her before Elizabeth can even think of a response, and she holds back the desire to sigh and hide her head in her hands.

She knew as soon as Threnn presented herself that it would come to this, but had somehow hoped that Alistair might know better than to be baited into losing his temper. Again.

'I do, as it happens. I'm certain he would have made the choices to benefit the people of Ferelden, no matter how difficult they were.'

'Yes, of course,' Alistair drawls, rolling his eyes. 'Because he never denied access to the chevaliers and wardens who could have stopped the deaths of hundreds of people across Ferelden.'

'General Loghain was a great man who only ever served his country and fellow countrymen.'

'Do you think the people of Lothering agree with you on that one? Or how about Honnleath? Or even all those Fereldans that fled to Kirkwall and ended up living in poverty and squalor because the Blight wasn't ended when it should have been.'

'There are casualties in war. We can't pretend that there is a way to save everyone, no matter how much we want to believe it,' Threnn sneers, as if talking to a petulant child. 'Loghain was loyal to the end. And you rewarded him by publicly executing him.'

'Loghain was found guilty, by the Landsmeet, of treason. His decisions would have led to the death and destruction of Ferelden as a nation, with no one to check the Blight.'

'Loghain was found guilty by nobles who never respected him because of his common birth. They were manipulated by the thought of having a supposed child of Maric's blood on the throne, and by two scaremongers claiming the end. I was at Ostagar too and I don't recall any swooping archdemons.'

'Funny,' Alistair hums, 'because I do remember an archdemon nearly destroying Denerim a year later. I also remember it tearing my back open and nearly crippling my wife. And yes Threnn, you were at Ostagar, but you left before the fun really started.' The king leans forwards in his chair, glaring down at the woman, his hands gripping the arms as he snarls, 'You weren't there to see the Darkspawn swarming the valley, feasting on the corpses of those who fell. You weren't there when we found Elric, escaped from Bann Loren's prisons after months of torture. And you certainly weren't there when we found King Cailan's corpse, rotted and defiled by darkspawn filth, strung up like an effigy. You weren't the one who untied him.' He chokes now, rage and sorrow that Elizabeth hadn't realised still lingered crowding his throat. 'You weren't the one who carried his body to a pitiful pyre, to try and give him some of the dignity and honour he deserved in death.'

He settles back into his chair slowly, tirade spilled, blinking back the well of tears that had formed in his eyes before they could fall.

Heedless of the crowd, Elizabeth reaches for him, hand covering his as it trembles, stroking a thumb across his knuckles. It draws his eyes to her, grief and guilt that should have been assuaged long ago returned as though the events he had described had happened recently, and she smiles weakly at him, as though it could ease some of his pain.

Somehow, it does, the gesture returned, and he takes a breath, shoring himself up before he turns his attention back to the gathering before them, though his hand twists to entwine with hers, seeking comfort even as he lifts his voice again.

'You were loyal to him for a reason, Threnn. I know that.' His voice is softer now, though the strength of his conviction runs strong within it. 'I believed him when I met him before the battle. I knew him to be wiser than Cailan. It should've been his tactics that got us through. But whether his intentions were true or not, he left, and hundreds, perhaps thousands, died because of it. King Cailan, the Wardens, the soldiers of Ferelden, the Ash Warriors and mages. They all died because of his decision to leave, and tactical or moral, I can't, won't, forgive him for that.' He pauses, casting his eyes over the crowd before he returns to Threnn's face. 'Casualties are a reality of war. But accepting that as a truth, and acting regardless of the death you cause are very different things.'

'You believe he didn't care about the number that died?' the former quartermaster asks.

'I believe he'd seen so much death that his perceptions of what is acceptable changed. I've always hoped that no matter how much death I see, I don't stop remembering that there are people behind those numbers, and countless more affected by those deaths. You may call it a weakness, but the day I forget or ignore that, is the day I cede the throne to a better man than I.'

'You're naive.'

'Maybe. But I also have hope that we can do great things if we have enough belief, rather than accepting the worst. Sacrifices often have to be made, but sometimes, if you try hard enough and with the blessing of the Maker, sometimes you can find a way around.'

'And yet still you killed him. You could have spared his life.'

'Could I? The punishment for treason is execution. That alone was warrant enough. But Loghain did not only this, but also captured, imprisoned and tortured scores of people who spoke out against him, seized control of the throne when the issue should have gone to the Landsmeet immediately, covertly attempted an assassination on Arl Eamon – knowing he would be a major voice against him, and sold Ferelden peoples into slavery. No,' he shakes his head slowly, mouth set firm, 'I couldn't. He needed to be punished for what he had done, no matter the intentions behind it.'

'And do you not feel the same about your decisions, your Majesty? Allowing the mages to shelter in Redcliffe caused harm to many people. Should you not face judgment and repercussions?'

Alistair smiles at that, a grim twist of his mouth.

'Do you think I've not? Do you think I was unaffected by the events? If you seek for me to be judged, then you'll be pleased to know that the Landsmeet has already done so, and they are not pleased with my actions. The repercussions, formally, are that the trust people have in me to lead them has been shaken. The decisions I make in future will be more closely reviewed by the Landsmeet. As for how it affected me personally...do you not remember that Redcliffe was my birthplace? My childhood home? I try not to damage the people and places I hold dear, as a rule.'

Elizabeth feels the shift in the air at Alistair's words, her eyes tracing the crowd, watching hardened and angry faces soften, understanding and sorrow blossoming in their wake and she knows that he's won them over. It sends a flutter through her chest, a smile on her lips that she hides behind a handkerchief and a cough, pride singing through her. She's always marveled at his compassion, his common touch, how easily he can make them understand; he bares himself before them, yet never lets his strength waiver as he speaks, his heart in his words. It calls back a memory for her, so many years ago on the eve of the battle for Denerim as he stood, uncoronated but undeniably a king, rousing the soldiers before him with nothing but his heart on his sleeve.

There's murmuring from the crowd, even as Threnn scowls, and Alistair lifts a steady hand, hushing them before looking to his wife, his cue for her to take the floor.

'It appears, Threnn, that we will have to agree to disagree, as always. But I would hope that anyone who has concerns that we are not acting in the best interests of our people has been reassured.'

Something akin to distaste crosses the woman's face for a moment before she huffs to herself and nods.

'I suppose so, your Majesty. I hope the people's trust in you is not misplaced.'

'As we all do, I'm sure.'

It's as Threnn makes to respond that the crowd begins to jostle, people moving aside and a moment later, Cullen appears from their midst.

'Your Majesties,' he greets, bowing low as he comes to stand beside Threnn, 'I hope I'm not interrupting, but Threnn is needed in the armory. Something to do with unreconciled cuirass orders, from what I hear.' He glances to the woman. 'Some of the newer members of stores seem to be confused about the concept of arithmetic.'

The woman gives a disgusted sigh and a dramatic eye roll.

'Thank you, commander, I'll see to it now. If I may take my leave of my king and queen?' she asks, though it's clear she expects the answer to be in the affirmative.

'Of course,' Alistair replies, 'the wheels of the Inquisition needn't stop turning on our account.'

She grimaces a little at his response, but bows nevertheless, a fraction more than she had previously, before turning and leaving the chamber at an impressive pace for a woman with a heavy limp. Cullen watches her go with a raised brow, catching Elizabeth's gaze questioningly as he turns back to them.

'I trust all is well?'

'Fine, thank you commander.' She smiles.

'I am pleased to hear it, your Majesty. If I might interject for a moment further, the Inquisitor was wondering if you would be seeking entertainment after dinner?'

She catches onto his meaning immediately, Cullen's gaze roving over her for a moment before crossing to Alistair, treating her husband to the same appraisal.

'I would imagine so. Does Lady Artemis have anything in mind?' she answers for them at Alistair's nod.

'She does, however I fear she may be somewhat tired after today's proceedings. Might I suggest something that does not require too much input on her part? A rematch at chess, perhaps?'

Amusement bubbles through her chest as she fights once more to keep her expression carefully polite, her core reacting to the memories that his words recall.

'That sounds agreeable, if my husband has no objections?'

'None whatsoever.' Alistair replies, deceptively casual.

'Though, commander, I believe chess is traditionally played by two parties only. I wouldn't wish for my king to be excluded.'

'Oh I'm sure we can work something out.' Cullen smiles. 'Two on one, perhaps?'

'We can make that work,' Alistair replies, his eyes flicking between her and Cullen, and her heart quickens in response.

'Then I'll inform my lady.' Cullen smiles again, and offers another quick bow before turning back into the crowd again.

Elizabeth watches him go, eyes fixed on pale golden curls until they're no longer in site. So engrossed by the thought of the evening ahead of them, she barely notices the young woman who's now approached to speak with them. Not until Alistair gently squeezes her hand.

'Hmm?' she asks, mind still lingering in her daydreams.

'My dear, this young lady was asking you about your opinion of the Inquisition.'

Indeed, the woman in question is looking up at her curiously, dressed in a gown fine enough to suggest a rank of nobility. She wonders if the girl is looking for gossip.

'My apologies,' she murmurs as she pulls her attention back, 'it has been a long morning. You were asking...?'

'The Inquisition, ma'am. Do you expect Ferelden and the Inquisition to have continued good relations?'

'I would hope so. The Inquisition has provided welcome aid a number of times, and I would hope that we could return the favour in the future.'

'And the Inquisitor herself?'

She knows where this is going, a not so subtle reference to the bad blood that had occurred within the first few weeks of their meeting.

'Lady Artemis? She's a fine leader and an excellent host.'

'You have no qualms with her then, your Majesty? Only...it seemed...there were rumours that you were not...seeing eye to eye'

'A misunderstanding, on both our parts. I would be pleased to call Lady Artemis a friend, especially after all she has done for Thedas. She's been most gracious.'

The woman curtseys, begging pardon and to take her leave, which Alistair readily grants, and Elizabeth settles back into the padded chair, content to let him do as much talking as he can as the hours grind by. Inevitably, the questions turn to the Grey Wardens and their behaviour, and she knows that she can't avoid addressing the issue. She utters quiet thanks to the Maker that most do not associate her with the Clarel's actions, largely due to her own absence at the time. The rest seemed to believe that she was doing her utmost to ensure the situation didn’t occur again.

The truth was that since finding the cure, the First Warden had unofficially ostracised her and the Ferelden faction from the order. A fact she was both disgruntled with and relieved by. Nathaniel Howe was working as Warden-Commander in her absence nowadays, and proved more than competent at it, giving her time to focus on her role as Queen. There would, however, always be a part of her that resented being sidelined when she had worked so hard in the name of the order.

Still, if she and Alistair ever did conceive, there would be no doubt that she was no longer a warden at all. Not that she would have the time to be one, with little feet to run after.

The light filtering in through tall arched windows has begun to fade by the time the last attendee has been addressed and Elizabeth grimaces as she stands. She'd forgotten how much sitting down all day made her legs seize, old injuries making themselves known again, and Alistair seems to feel the same, stretching his back out and hissing as he does so.

'Well,' he starts once he's worked the tension from his back, 'I don't know about you my love, but dinner sounds pretty good.'

'Dinner always sounds good.'

He grins, sidling over to her as their aides wait by the door, arms easing around her waist and pulling her close, placing a quick peck on her cheek.

'That was...quite a day,' he murmurs, his expression turning sour. 'I didn't think we'd see Threnn. I should've seen it coming.'

She shrugs.

'It was almost guaranteed that we would, given we would've preferred not to.'

He smiles again, though there's no real strength to it as his shoulders slump.

'...I'm sorry I didn't handle it better.'

The statement startles her, her husband's insecurities rising again when he had seemed so at ease just a moment ago.

'Alistair, you handled it perfectly. I couldn't have asked for more.'

'I let my feelings get the better of me. Again. I always do, even when you've told me for so long that I need to control them.'

She nods to herself, the words a truth that she's long denied.

'Yes, I have said that. But I never should have. Your emotions are your strength, Alistair, I've always known that and I should have never tried to make you think you should hide them. It's your honesty in these matters that makes people trust you, serve you, as well it should. I couldn't be more proud of you.'

'...really? But all I did was talk.'

'Well, that is your talent. For better or worse,' she teases, a grin curving her mouth, which he returns in full.

'As long as I'm good for something then.'

'More than one thing, I assure you.'

'I suppose I can stretch my imagination to what those might be but...best save that for our audience with the commander, hmm?'

He takes her hand in his, thick fingers intertwining with hers before he trots down from the small dais, tugging her with him, the familiar bounce to his long strides returned. At the door, their aides join them, opening the way for them as their guard files in alongside, escorting them to their chambers to dress for the evening.

It's as they enter the main sitting room that Elizabeth spots a sealed letter on the table. Lifting it, she finds a handwritten note, that simply reads;

'Your chambers. After dessert. C&A'

–

Her heart is hammering in her chest.

As Elizabeth returns to their suite, she feels it, almost frantic, electricity singing along her nerves as her stomach flips. Anxiety and excitement, a potent enough mix that she barely touched her food as they sat in the dining hall, trying not to stare too obviously at the other couple.

The chilly air of the early autumnal evening is pleasantly cool on her skin as they walk, Alistair's arm around her waist as Cullen and Artemis follow. It's just the four of them, guards and servants dismissed for the evening, under the assurance that the aforementioned excuse of chess didn't require any further assistance.

The door is unlocked when they approach, the rooms ready for them; a fire banked ready to stave off the cool night air, a pot of tea and bottle of wine waiting on the sitting room table and, as Elizabeth finds as she excuses herself to the bedroom to slip off her heavy gown, the bed's blankets already turned down.

It's a relief to shed the outer layer of her dress; beautiful as the pale grey silk is, the multiple layers of it are stifling and she lays the dress aside carefully before returning to the sitting room, breathing easier in the linen undershift.

Artemis has already made herself comfortable on the large sofa, a cup of tea in her hands, but it's clear her attention isn't really in the room, her eyes half closed.

'Are you well, Artemis?' she asks, crossing to sit beside the smaller woman.

The Inquisitor shifts against plush cushions, turning to look at her.

'Yes, thank you, 'Lis. A little tired is all.'

'It appears to have been a long day for everyone, then.'

The younger woman smiles.

'So I gather. I hope Threnn wasn't too much of a problem. I have been trying to keep her too busy to run into you...'

'Ah, so the unreconciled cuirasses were a ploy then?'

'Something like that. Cullen was on his way over anyway,' she nods at the man whose ears prick at the sound of his name, 'but while we were walking we overheard someone saying that she was planning on attending your council.'

'I see. Threnn's opinion of us is well known then?'

Artemis shifts again, taking another sip of tea.

'She's not overly vocal but if anyone asks...she's willing enough to tell. Most seem to not believe her, anyway.'

'And she serves you well enough?'

'She's very good at what she does.'

Elizabeth nods at that, pleased. The last thing she would want now was for Threnn to have turned out to be a nuisance to the Inquisition.

'Anyway, I believe we're supposed to be providing your entertainment for the evening,' Artemis suggests, sipping her tea. Across the room, the mens' heads lift again, eyes bright, and she giggles.

'Yes, the game of chess, I believe,' Elizabeth replies, eyes flicking between Cullen and Artemis. She wasn't certain how much the two had discussed so far, or if this was something she was willing to accept.

'Is that what we're calling it now?' Artemis giggles again, beaming at the commander who looks mildly ruffled by her comment.

'I don't think it's a terrible euphemism, considering how it arose.'

'Have you and Cullen discussed the...tactics, of play then?'

Pale blue eyes flick back to her, widening for a moment, her lips twitching ever so slightly.

'We have.'

'And...you are comfortable with these arrangements? I wouldn't wish to ask something of you that you don't wish to give.'

'You and Cullen have already...' she pauses, hand flitting in the air as she searches for the right word, '...you know. So there really isn't much difference between now and then, just because your husband is involved. And...I'll still be watching.'

A blush creeps onto the younger woman's face as she speaks, and Elizabeth finds herself smiling, warmed by the delicate expression.

'If you're certain you're comfortable...'

'Of course. Besides, if anyone says no, we stop, right?'

Elizabeth offers a nod, noting from the corner of her eye that Alistair and Cullen are following suit, even as they inch closer to the sofa.

'And...if I'm honest, I'm curious to see how this goes. It's something I may be interested in trying myself. Later.'

She feels her eyebrows lift of their own accord, surprised and amused by the other woman's sudden display of interest in such things.

'I see. I had best put on a good show then.'

'Oh you really should.' Alistair grins, he and Cullen creeping ever closer. His eyes hold hers for a moment, concerned, and she smiles up at him before rising as gracefully as she can, moving to the small selection of drinks on the table. She frowns when she realises there's nothing stronger than wine, lips pursing.

As eager as she is, even she has to admit that she is a little bit daunted by the prospect of being the centre of so much attention. Particularly so much male attention.

'Something you need, my love?' Alistair asks from over her shoulder, worry creasing his brow.

'I was looking for something with a bit more kick,' she muses, before she's hit by inspiration. 'Is my flask here?'

'The Grey Whiskey? That bad, huh?' His smile returns, gently teasing, before he disappears into the bedroom for a moment. When he returns, the familiar silverite hip flask is in his hand. She takes it from him, uncapping it and taking a large swig, feeling heat bloom instantly as it touches her tongue.

The sensation is welcome, reassuring in its familiarity. This small flask of amber spirits had gotten her through many scrapes and fits of depression while she was away. Not, she realised, for the alcohol, but because the odd feeling of home that it gave her. The Ferelden Whiskey that Alistair had bought her, Zevran's favourite Antivan Brandy, a drop of honeyed Orlesian cognac that Leliana had insisted she try, all mixed together.

Though, she smiled, the alcohol was quite helpful on its own, too.

'Is that...? Blackwall had a flask like that,' Cullen asks, eying the vessel in her hand.

'All wardens carry one. They're usually passed down or collected when a warden dies. The idea is to always leave a little in the bottom, so whomever picks it up next always has something to drink. And then you add your own spirit. Over the years, you can create quite the concoction.'

'So it would seem.' He smiles, intrigue in the former templar's eyes. She holds out the flask.

'Care to try?'

'I...yes, thank you.'

He takes the flask, glaring briefly at Alistair as he snorts with amusement, and she watches as the commander takes a tentative sniff of the liquid before knocking back a mouthful. The result is instantaneous, a soft sputtering as his swallows, cheeks burning red as he blinks rapidly, trying to maintain his composure. On the sofa, Artemis titters gently as Alistair roars with laughter.

'It does take a little getting used to.' She smiles, taking the flask as he returns it to her.

'So I noticed,' he wheezes, liquor on his lips.

It strikes her with a sudden flight of fancy, and she steps forwards, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides. Catching his chin in her hand, she tilts his head down the few inches between them, before sweeping her tongue over his lower lip. The flavour of the liquor is different on his lips, saltier perhaps, and she tries for another taste, only to have her mouth captured firmly in a kiss as Cullen's lips descend upon hers.

Hands find their way to her arms, broad, rough palms firm and warm against her cool skin, his grip growing firmer as she parts her lips for him. The palate of the alcohol is stronger as his tongue slides against hers, coated in the thick liquid and mingled with the sweetness of the dessert he'd eaten earlier. It's oddly enrapturing, another sensation to add to the heavy heat of his body as he presses her close to him, the soft hum in his throat as she pushes back. She's thankful he's decided to forego the breastplate tonight, just a thick dinner jacket between them, and she slips her hands beneath the hem of the garment, untucking the cotton shirt beneath to access the heated skin of his abdomen.

There's a chuckle as she does, the commander breaking their kiss momentarily to meet her gaze, the golden-brown of his eyes bright with amusement as he steps back to slip the jacket off, the shirt following moments later. In the warm light of the fire, she takes the opportunity to study him, noting details that she'd been too overwhelmed to before; the scattered scars over his chest and stomach, one that looks suspiciously like a burn just beneath his collarbone, and the light dusting of dark golden hair that covers his chest and stomach.

'You know, a husband could get jealous of his wife paying such attention to another man,' Alistair comments from behind her, though his voice is light with mirth as he teases her.

'I suspect, my darling, that jealousy now may be a little late.'

‘I wouldn't want to come between such a devoted couple,' Cullen murmurs, meeting Alistair's gaze with a smirk, 'although I'm sure we'd be comfortable if you...came between us.'

Alistair laughs at the suggestion, his footsteps falling quickly as he approaches them, and Elizabeth feels her skin tingle, rising into goosebumps with anticipation. She meets Alistair's eyes as soon as he's before her, amber darkened to copper in his lust, though the quirk of his lips speaks of his amusement as he bends to her for a kiss, his mouth locking against hers. Her eyes flutter closed, focusing her hearing on Cullen as he retreats, slipping behind her.

'Now,' he speaks, when their kiss breaks, 'if my lady would be so kind as to undress our king, I'll return the favour.'

It's all the warning she gets as Cullen steps up to press against her back, his hands skimming down her waist to rest on her hips, and she has to remind herself to pay attention to Alistair's garments as she loosens laces and ties, buttons and buckles. For every inch of her husband's skin she reveals, the commander matches with her own; shoulders bared as she eases Alistair's tunic off, her linen shift pushed down to her waist when she works his belt, the dress eased from her hips when she parts the material of her husband's breeches.

She's glad of the low fire in the hearth as Cullen rolls her stockings down her legs, his hands stroking her thighs and calves, as he does so, and she shivers at the combination of warm hands and air caressing her cool legs. He picks up her feet daintily as she eases the thick leather of Alistair's trousers from his hips, shoving it as far down his thighs as she can with Cullen at her feet before her husband takes over, discarding the clothing for her.

He steps towards her as he's freed, throwing his braies aside, before encircling her with his arms, pulling her against the familiar warmth of his chest as he presses his lips to hers. Heat blooms again at the touch of his skin to hers, and she withdraws from him only to aid Cullen as he slips her smalls from her hips and chest, leaving her bare against her husband. She should feel exposed, she thinks as she kisses her husband, but in the company of these two men, she feels at ease, protected almost.

Alistair's lips ease from hers, shifting across to her jaw, nipping lightly, the tip of his tongue tracing the corner as Cullen presses up against her. He still wears his breeches, rough cloth chafing at her bare legs and she cranes her head back, her mouth opening on a complaint, only to be seized by his again.

The combination of Cullen's tongue against hers and Alistair's mouth, against her throat now, sends a wave of excitement through her, and she feels her heart thud heavy in her chest, quickening its pace as warmth begins to coil in her abdomen. Her own hands find their heads, one weaving into copper strands the other into rich golden curls, encouraging them in their attentions, holding them to her.

Teeth graze her shoulder as Alistair relocates again, his hands finding her hips and holding her, his hardening member pressed to a hipbone, rocking gently. Behind her, Cullen's hands grip at her waist, then shift, rising to the gentle swells of her chest and she moans as his palms close around her, nipples stiffening at the rough skin of his fingertips. He pinches as his mouth descends, moving to the shoulder that Alistair isn't attending to, and she grunts at the sudden pressure against her peaks.

Soft puffs of air break against her shoulder as he chuckles, easing his grip on her, circling gently instead as his teeth graze against her, continually altering between rough and gentle touches until her skin is tingling, hot and sensitive, eager for the next sensation. It comes as wet heat, Alistair's lips descending to her chest, two pairs of hands lifting her, making it easier for them to worship her.

There's a pause as one of Cullen's hands returns to the nipple that Alistair is laving with his tongue, distracting him for a moment and Elizabeth glances down to see her husband breaking from her. He licks at Cullen's fingertips for a moment, sucking on two digits before the commander withdraws his hand, returning it to the unattended nipple, spreading the liquid which glistens on his fingers against her taut tip. It cools rapidly as his hand withdraws, until the peak feels unbearably hard, wanting his attention as it wanders.

His hands are back on her waist as Alistair's lips leave her other nipple with a long pull, paying brief attention to the mound about her hardened tip. He moves downwards in tandem with Cullen, his lips tracing down the centre of her belly; the subtle ridges and curves there as Cullen's tongue traces down her spine, stopping now and then to kiss at a prominent knob of bone. Their hands lower her as they sink to their knees, thoughts synchronised as they kneel before and behind her.

She expects what Alistair has planned, a peppering of kisses against her hipbones as Cullen nips at the dimples either side of her spine, his tongue dipping into each shallow divet. Their hands twine together atop her hips, fingers brushing as mouths nip and lick and suck, leaving a belt of lovebites encircling her hips.

And then they pause, breath heating her skin, an unbearable moment where there's no sensations and she moans in frustration, her hips shifting, trying to encourage them into some movement. All she receives for a moment is an infuriating chuckle from Alistair before there's a sharp crack in the air.

She blanches, jolts, shocked into silence under the sudden sting against her backside, heat flourishing and she realises with a blush that the commander has spanked her right buttock. The thought sends an odd shiver of pleasure through her, her loins giving a heavy, single throb at the thought.

It calls her attention to the heat in her belly, the quiet pressure in her loins as she softens, opens, her arousal seeping.

They catch it instantly, and she feels Cullen's lips curl into a smile against her skin, Alistair's irises blown as her catches her scent. In a moment, he grips her thigh, encouraging it over his shoulder, opening her hips to him as fingers press to her outer lips.

She's felt this sensation a thousand times, and it never fails to rile her, warm wetness as he gives her a long leisurely lick, his fingers spreading to part her folds. The other hand grips her thigh still, holding it in place over his shoulder. Behind her Cullen nips, his tongue against a cheek, his hands squeezing rhythmically at her buttocks, and despite the tension of arousal, she feels herself relax to their touches.

There's a soft huff from Alistair as he pauses, mouth stilling and he pulls back a moment, chest heaving as he catches his breath. The hand pressing her curls apart withdraws, the tip of one finger pressing heavily to her nub for a moment, easing down through her folds, and she relishes the way that long digit slides into her easily. He smirks against her thigh, finger curling gently, drawing a moan from her, hips pressing forwards as he withdraws the digit. He adds another, easing back into her, stretching her steadily, his thumb pressing to her pearl when his fingers are fully seated.

The mouth against her bottom stills.

'You're getting all the fun, aren't you?' Cullen grunts to Alistair, frustration clear in his voice even as Alistair grins broadly.

'I'm willing to share, you know. And I'm sure ‘Lis wouldn't mind.' His eyes flick to hers, questioning, though she's sure he already knows the answer.

'I...yes,' is all she can manage, distracted by the coiling heat and Alistair's fingers and she almost jumps when Cullen's arms loop around her hips, one hand spreading her folds again, leaving her exposed to Alistair's mouth once more.

Her husband dives in again, mouth sealing over her as his tongue flicks against her nub frantically, her hips jerking against the sudden onslaught of sensation. So lost in the building heat as she writhes under his mouth, she fails to notice Cullen's free hand sliding underneath her raised leg, his fingers briefly stroking over the back of Alistair's hand. Only when the tip of a finger finds the seam of Alistair's pressed within her does she realise his intentions, unable to do anything but let her head fall back, a moan in her throat as his finger slides into her, alongside Alistair's.

It's a strange sensation, not the third finger, but for it to be the hand of another man inside her at the same time as her husband. They move differently, Alistair's fingers curling against her front wall slowly as Cullen begins to drive his finger into her with short, sharp thrusts. When he pauses, adds another finger, she bucks again, Alistair's tongue laving at her folds now as Cullen peppers kisses along her hipbone. She grips at her husband's shoulders for support, trembling, gasping for breath as their fingers stretch her, massaging her walls and pushing deep into her, her pearl jolted with every jerk of their hands.

'You're so wet,' comes Alistair's hushed iteration, breath hot against her curls as she twitches, and the words send a bolt of arousal through her, a sharp spasm that makes her clench around their digits. 'I've never seen you like this before.'

She can't find the words or breath to respond, mind numbed beneath waves of pleasure, and so she lets her body's reactions respond for her, twitching, shaking, softs moans and gasps of breath as she climbs. She can feel her fingers sharp in Alistair's hair, the other hand gripping at Cullen's broad shoulder as she rocks between them, grinding against Alistair's mouth the moment it returns to her.

The return of his tongue to her core, lips closing around her bud as he sucks gently, sends a torrent of heat over her skin, so great she can hardly bear it and she twitches and jerks against him, his surprised groan sending a vibration through her. The leg over his shoulder cramps suddenly; sharp pain causes her the limb to clench, wrenching him against her with a muffled grunt. Buried within her, his fingers curl hard against her, tongue flicking sharp against her nub that makes the building wave shatter, her growing arousal suddenly peaking.

Her back arches of its own accord, muscles seizing in ecstasy, her mouth open on a long unbroken note as she climaxes, the edges of her vision blurring as she stares at the ceiling.

Soft chuckles greet her as her skin begins to cool, a wave of fatigue creeping over her and Elizabeth becomes aware of hands on her waist, steadying her as she descends from her high. Alistair eases her leg from his shoulders, Cullen's hands sinking to cup her buttocks, lowering her to the ground between them as her chest's heaving slows.

'Was that satisfactory, my lady?' the commander rumbles from behind her as she nestles between the two of them, cushioned by warm skin. Even as he speaks, he reaches for Alistair, wiping her juices from the king's chin.

'More than,' she murmurs, her body heavy and the familiar chuckles return as hands gently lift her onto Alistair's lap.

'Don't fall asleep just yet, ‘Lis,' Alistair coaxes her arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist as he kneels on plush carpet, 'we've still got plans for you.'

She knows what they mean as she's gently maneuvered into position, Alistair massaging the leg that had cramped, easing sore muscles. Her mind distantly realises that she should be nervous about the prospect, but in the wake of her climax, she can't find the energy to care, happy to be carefully manipulated by these two men. If her mind worries about the logistics, her heart knows that she's safe and cared for here.

Behind her, Cullen shuffles forwards, a hands stroking heavily down her side as the other insinuates itself between her thighs, rubbing featherlight over her hardened pearl. It sends a shiver of pleasure through her that's borderline unwelcome, too much so close to her climax, and she jerks away, a low moan of protest in her throat.

'Point taken,' he murmurs, fingers easing away, through the slickness of her folds instead, dipping back into her. He presses lightly against her walls, earning another low moan as he kisses her shoulder, his free hand coaxing her head to turn to him. When she does, his lips meet hers again, warm, soft, firm and she sinks into the kiss, his careful touches beginning to rouse her interest once more.

Hands hold her steady as she begins to rock against Cullen's fingers, sweat dampening her skin, sandwiched as she is between the two men. A shuffle of her hips downwards, and she feels Alistair brush against her, the swollen head of his cock slick with precum as it slides against her curls.

'When...' he pants at the touch, 'Whenever you're ready, 'Lis. I think I'm going to explode here.'

She laughs at that, but takes his meaning, aware that he and Cullen must have been holding themselves back for so long now, and with a steadying breath, she nods.

'I'm ready.'

Cullen's mouth catches her again at that, his tongue swiping heavy against hers before he withdraws, Alistair taking his place. As the commander's tongue retreats, so do his fingers from within her, sliding free, his other hand pressing to the small of her back.

She arches as he wants, her chest pressed against Alistair's, hips tilted to present her backside as best she can. Her legs fall loose about her husband's waist, relying on him to keep her upright now, his nose pressing to her neck as he holds her weight steady. After a moment, his mouth returns to kissing as her neck, and she focuses on it as warm hands rest on her backside, massaging full flesh as fingers slip ever closer to the crease of her cheeks.

Nerves tingle across her skin as Cullen's hands wander, easing the rounded flesh apart. She gasps, stills as his finger, moist with her arousal, finds its target. The sensation is nothing like anything she's encountered before; not even with Alistair has she dared to try this. She twitches beneath Cullen's finger, cheeks aflame as he touches her, as aroused by the concept of this forbidden pleasure as the actual sensation.

He's gentle, patient, pressing gently against her opening, retreating when she shifts uncomfortably until she settle again, allowing him to open her to him gradually. He pauses in his attentions after a while, a kiss placed at the top of her spine as he disappears. Alistair holds her firm against him, lips pressing soft kisses to her neck, reassuring as Cullen returns, a small vial of what she can only assume is oil clutched in his hand.

The commander smiles as she looks over her shoulder to him, golden eyes warm, kneeling behind her once more. His attention returns to her backside and she gasps, startled, when the tip of his oil-slicked finger presses into her. He's slow as he moves, and she feels the give of her muscles as she relaxes under the easy intrusion.

Alistair teases her still, his efforts strengthening, hands stroking soothingly at her sides, kissing along her collarbone. Beneath her, his cock twitches, excited and frustrated by the slow proceedings, thought when she moans as Cullen slides a full finger into her, he jumps again, brushing her folds.

'Easy now, ‘Lis,' he murmurs against her ear. 'Take it slow. We'll get there soon enough.'

She has no intention of doing otherwise. Zevran had often imparted far too much knowledge of such things on her, not least the pain that moving too quickly in such situations can cause. Undoubtedly, she'd endured worse so far in her life, but still, Cullen's slow attentions were welcome enough.

There's a kiss at the nape of her neck again as Cullen gently retracts his finger, until just the tip remains in her, before pushing slowly upwards again. He slides more easily this time, coating her with the oil and she pulses in response, both passages wanting attention, sending deeper strokes of lust through her nerves. As always, Alistair knows somehow, catches what she needs somewhere in her expression and his hand dips between them, two thick fingers delving into her once more. She clutches at them instantly, welcoming the gentle stretch they provide, though she knows it won't be enough for long.

Behind her, Cullen moves faster, each movement of his hand sending frissons of pleasure through her, as Alistair finds his rhythm and works against it. In the pit of her belly heat coils, and she marvels at her body's ability to build up again so soon, if at a slower pace, coaxed into arousal that seems deeper than the last. She rocks against the digits seated within her, grinding down against each hand in turn, trying to achieve greater friction, moaning as Cullen's free hand seizes a breast, his weight resting against her back. It pushes her firmly into Alistair's chest, leaving her almost helpless, pinned between two warm muscled bodies, working her until she's open and dripping once more, her core and backside pulsing with each press of fingers inside her.

And then they stop, their fingers withdrawing in unison, leaving her hollow. Elizabeth squirms, hissing when Cullen's hand squeezes tighter around her breast.

'A moment, your Majesty,' he murmurs into her ear. 'We'll not leave you wanting for long.'

Still, she almost whimpers when he pulls away completely, her back suddenly cool, until Alistair's hands grip her, his cockhead brushing her folds as he arches his hips. As she meets his gaze she finds a question in his eyes, just as his head presses into her, parting and filling her with exquisite slowness. Her eyes drift shut at the slow stretch of her centre around his cock, relishing the way she feels him fill her until he's fully sheathed, his hips against hers, her long legs still locked behind him. He reaches up, a single firm kiss pressed to her lips before his eyes beg her attention again.

'Ready?' he asks, as Cullen settles behind them, the same question in the commander's gaze and she nods, taking a deep breath.

Cullen's hands grasp her hips again, tilting them gently until she's bared to him once more, Alistair shifting his grip to spread her cheeks as the blonde shuffles closer.

They still. The three of them in unison as Cullen finally presses his cock to her, the lightest pressure he can manage, allowing her to get used to the motion.

Elizabeth bites her lip, breathing hitching at the sensation of his slickened head teasing her. Her temperature flares again at the contact, throbbing lowly around her husband's shaft, and as she releases that breath, the commander eases forwards again, pushing into her.

It's slow and hot and ever so slightly painful, the stretch of her tightness around him more than anything she's used to. But even that minute tension only adds to the overall sensation, she finds, her centre clutching at Alistair again as she pulses harder, pleasure racing through her nerves, excitement coursing through her blood. When she breathes out, he presses forwards again, and she knows from the way he grunts that his head is fully enveloped by her now.

The rest of his slow ease into her he completes in one smooth motions, hips straining towards her and she feels him sink into her, inch by inch, until he's fully seated, one hand on her waist, the other covering Alistair's hand on her backside.

She can feel him panting, his breath hot on her ear, his chest dampened with sweat and pressed to her back, and she tries to focus on those details, to calm herself despite the two members now nestled within her. She almost manages until Alistair shuffles and groans lowly;

'Maker, Lis, you're so tight now,' and she pulses at those words, struggles not to moan and begin rutting against the two men she's pinned between.

'In both regards.' Cullen grunts, pulling his hips back an inch, sliding out of her just slightly before pushing in again, and she moans and arches, listening to Alistair do the same.

'Fuck,' he pants, and she starts at the expletive, unused to hearing her lover use such language, 'fuck, I can feel you moving, Cullen.'

She doesn't catch Cullen's response to that, caught in the roll of Alistair's hips, in the ecstasy on his face, moments before Cullen withdraws fully and thrusts back into her, harder and faster than she'd expected.

Pleasure ripples through her as she grips at their cocks, the heavy friction sublime and Elizabeth sinks her fingers into the soft flesh of Alistair's back and Cullen's hip, clinging to dampened flesh as they work to find a rhythm again. Pressed between the two of them she can only buck and writhe, listening to the wail of her own voice when they thrust in unison, driving into her together, stoking the flickers of lust in her belly.

With her breath coming in pants she arches again, though it does nothing for her, pinned as she is, and she revels in the feeling of being surrounded by them, the coil in her belly curling tighter, her loins throbbing as sweat springs up on her skin now, hair plastered to her neck as the men rut against her.

She loses track of time and the control of her voice, moaning with every thrust, a mewl on her lips as fingers grip a nipple, pulling hard as teeth graze her shoulders. With her eyes closed and head reclined she has no idea whose hands are where, knowing only the sensations that each touch brings, forcing her towards her completion, and she claws at the flesh in her hands, wringing grunts from Alistair and Cullen.

They abandon any attempt to move in time to one another, pressing against her hard, hands gripping whatever flesh they can find, driving into her relentlessly. She realises it's become a competition, each man straining to draw the loudest cries from her and she gives into their will gladly, letting them pound into her, her voice encouraging them to plunge harder, faster, until her throat is raw and her limbs are trembling and she tumbles over the edge of her climax with a cry she's never made before; her muscles seizing harder than she can ever remember, wrenching orgasm through her.

And still they rut, even after she's clenched and shuddered around them, her arousal all but dripping from her, they grunt and thrust, groaning until eventually Cullen grips her hips and wrenches her back onto his cock with a roar into her neck. He shudders as he spills into her, an odd wail rising from his throat as Alistair continues to pound, losing his own rhythm and with a final thrust he joins them in completion, hips snapping before he all but collapses against them.

Momentum lost, the three of them sag together, falling to the side in a tangle of limbs, heavy breathing punctuated by short giggles and bursts of laughter at the sight they must make. It's only when their skin cools, becoming clammy and sticky, that they make any attempt to move, Cullen withdrawing first with a murmured apology as he disappears into the bathroom.

With her back cooling, Elizabeth shivers, sweat drying on her skin and she's grateful for Alistair's arms as they coil around her, warming her as he slips free of her body and draws her into his lap. As they pull themselves upright she remembers that they have an audience and she turns her gaze to Artemis slowly, wary of what expression she'll find on the woman's face.

As she glances up to her, the overwhelming effect is....crimson. The Inquisitor sits perched on the sofa, her cheeks and ears flaming, chest heaving and lips parted with her own arousal. Blue eyes meet her own and the woman clears her throat, dropping her gaze.

'Well that was...' Artemis mutters, though she halts when Cullen reenters the room and rushes to her, pulling her into his arms.

They all know the gesture for what it is; a reaffirmation of his love for her, and perhaps, a request for forgiveness. But if there's any needed, Artemis doesn't show it, content to kiss Cullen fully and press into him, her eyes bright as her cheeks cool. Emboldened by Cullen's presence, she catches Elizabeth's gaze again.

'You...make rather a good case there, 'Lis.' She smiles. 'I think I may have to try that myself sometime.'

Against Elizabeth's back, Alistair chuckles, amused by both the younger woman's boldness and Cullen's surprise.

'But...not just yet,' Artemis quickly interjects, earning herself a soft smile from Cullen.

Elizabeth watches the display as Alistair excuses himself to the bathroom, and she smiles at the couple, reassured that this hasn't damaged either their relationship or the growing friendship between her and Artemis. Encouraged, she stands, retreating to the bathroom to clean up.

'That was incredible.' Alistair breathes, eyes wide and excited, the moment she steps in beside him.

'I agree.' She smiles at him before he crushes her in a hug, his amber eyes finding hers.

'And you're well? It didn't hurt or anything?'

'I think if it I did, I would have let you know.'

He laughs.

'True. I always know where I stand with you.' He grins, eyes and smile brighter than ever. 'I best go and check they're alright too.'

She nods, setting to cleaning up the mess which is trickling down her thighs, and when she returns to the room, dressed in a robe , she finds the three of them sat on the settees once more, drinking the wine they had failed to open earlier.

They smile as she joins them, hearts light and easy despite the odd encounter they'd been a part of, and she sinks onto the sofa and into the air of camaraderie that has formed between them in the last few weeks. This, she realises as Alistair presses a glass of wine into her hand and Artemis grins, is something she hadn't even known she had missed. It had been so long since she'd had the opportunity to sit and chat with friends as she had during the Blight, that she'd almost forgotten it.

But now, here with her husband and her new found friends, she realised she'd found it again, and the thought makes her grin as she sinks back into the sofa, and joins in their conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again for reading, hope the chapter was hot, enjoyable etc. etc.
> 
> Also still floating about on [ tumblr ](http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to say hi/ see my random ramblings...


	19. On thine knees (NSFW - AlistairxCullenxArtemis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a night of passion, Alistair find there is still more to come...

They had talked well into the night.

 

Or rather, they had talked well into the early hours of the morning, the four of them sipping wine and nibbling on small chunks of bread and cheese as the fire crackled in the hearth.

 

Quiet, relaxed, at ease, words springing up between the four of them.

 

It was something Alistair hadn't expected to find here when they had arrived at Skyhold so many weeks ago, much less after Artemis and Elizabeth had initially met. But there, by the hearthside, cocooned in blankets and pillows, he'd watched them, excited chatter and pleased smiles, friendship blooming. It comforted him to know that there was someone Elizabeth had formed a bond with now. Back in Denerim, she had so few friends, just handfuls of maids and the odd noblewoman who was just about trustworthy enough not to gossip.

 

She had always maintained that nobles had few friends, and that from a fairly early age, she'd accepted this as a fact. A noblewoman, she said, often lived alone amongst a swirl of societal niceties, and she was comfortable with that. She wasn't, by nature, an overly sociable person, but when she'd met Leliana, he'd seen the way she'd bonded with the other woman, until the two were almost sisters. Their similarity in appearance had always added to that, and they were often mistaken as twins, save for Elizabeth's greater height.

 

He knew how much she'd missed the other woman when they'd gone their separate ways.

 

But now, now there was something new forming, and he was pleased to see it. Perhaps Artemis could become that close friend that Leliana now couldn't afford to be.

 

Eventually, he had nodded off as the women chattered away, and had only awoken due to an insistent prod to the shoulder from Cullen. The commander had apparently been awake the entire time, and had finally grown either weary of the conversation, or just tired, and had rather bluntly suggested that the girls could finish their chat when the sun had risen again.

 

As it turned out, sunrise had been but a few hours away.

 

Alistair would laugh, if he wasn't quite so tired himself.

 

'Tea, Your Majesty?'

 

The voice jolts him out of his thoughts, or rather, out of his dozing and he blinks at the honorific and the maid before him. She stands across the other side of the large oak table that dominates the hall, an etched silver teapot in hand.

 

'Um, yes, thank you,' he murmurs, and the girl smiles before pouring the steaming brew into a delicate china cup in front of him before disappearing with a curtsey. He catches Cullen's eye briefly as he watches her leave, the man seeming almost annoyed that he has the gall to appear tired, when he was the one who was awake all night.

 

Beside Cullen, Artemis tuts, tapping his arm, clearly in a good mood despite the lack of sleep.

 

The four of them sit together at the head table in the hall, partaking of a public breakfast, an affair devised by Josephine to allow people to see the four of them interacting without issue; gossip, it seems, has been rife in Skyhold's many corners.

 

Lis and Artemis are, of course, performing admirably, chatting amicably over portions of plain sweet cakes. Himself and the commander are doing somewhat more poorly, and he grips the china as delicately as he can before taking a sip, trying to rouse himself. The brew has already been lightly sweetened and, even he, the least discerning of tea drinkers, could appreciate that. The sugar peps him up within a few moments, and he lifts his head, surveying the room.

 

There's a host of different nobles present at the long tables set up for breakfast, a multitude of garish colours mark the Orlesians and Antivans, whereas those from the Free Marches and Nevarra wear more muted pallets. It's odd to see so many different nationalities, different fashions and manners crammed into the room and he secretly breathes a sigh of relief that he rarely has to host such a mix of people. On the odd occasion that foreign dignitaries did visit Ferelden, they usually came alone and often not for long.

 

He couldn't imagine how Josephine, even with her love of this sort of thing, could cope with it. But he imagined Artemis and Cullen did even less so.

 

The thought prompts him to turn, glancing to the commander who sits the other side of Artemis, grimacing. One would think from the way his glare is directed at the bacon on his plate that it had somehow offended him, perhaps in not being bacon-y enough, but as hints of conversations drift to him, it rapidly becomes apparent that that is not the case. Indeed, the small group of Orlesians who sit at the head of the table nearest to them are whispering to each other, none too quietly, and throwing less than subtle glances at the blonde.

 

Alistair had heard something about this when he'd last visited Skyhold. The Orlesian nobility had been enamoured with the dashing commander ever since his appearance at the Winter Ball some years ago, and their fervour had apparently not abated over that period. And Cullen was neither a subtle nor particularly patient man. He could only imagine what being continually gossiped about and flirted with was doing to the man's already threadbare patience.

 

'My, aren't you the lucky one, commander,' he murmurs, just loud enough for the other man to hear, and golden eyes flick to him, almost wary. Here, in front of their public, Cullen never was quite sure how to respond.

 

'Your Majesty?' he asks, reverence not quite touching his tone.

 

Alistair inclines his head towards the small gaggle nearest to them, a broad smile crossing his lips as he does.

 

'Such an adoring public. If only I could get the Orlesians to bat their eyelashes at me so easily.'

 

A snort follows as Cullen's eyes dart to the group, before returning to meet his own.

 

'Perhaps you should consider attending more balls, my king. I understand diplomatic relations are an important part of ruling.'

 

'Or perhaps I should get myself a fetching lip scar?'

 

Cullen scowls, the aforementioned scar pulling taut as he does so, honey eyes narrowing at him, and Alistair laughs, grinning at the man's obvious frustration.

 

'I don't think it would suit his Majesty,' the former templar replies, taking a sip of tea. 'You lack the...what's the word I'm looking for? Ah yes...masculinity.'

 

The laugh leaves his throat before he can check it, burbling out loud and genuine even as he grasps over his heart in mock offense.

 

'Commander, you seek to wound me so? Ah, but I understand. 'Tis but jealousy,' he announces, adopting the haughtiest voice he can. 'After all, one cannot possibly gaze upon this profile and not turn green with envy.'

 

'If I turn green upon seeing you, my king, I assure you that envy is not the cause.'

 

Their voices are attracting attention, the nobles nearest to them looking towards the laughter spilling from the top table and Alistair seizes his chance; if Cullen wouldn't turn green, he could certainly make him turn a mottled red.

 

'Such slander, commander,' he lifts an eyebrow, though he can't help but grin at his rhyme, 'and about your own king too. I think a punishment is in order.'

 

'Is that so?' Cullen asks, uncertainty clouding his eyes as he drawls his question.

 

'It is. I expect an apology before the day is out. Preferably on your knees before me, as would be fitting.'

 

'And if I refuse?' the blonde speaks slowly, his cheeks colouring the lightest shade of pink at the suggestion.

 

'Then I'll have you over my knee instead.'

 

He can't quite believe the cockiness and confidence that's crept into his own voice as he speaks, nor the fact that, somehow, he's managed to keep his cool in front of the Orlesians. They titter to themselves at the insinuation, even as Cullen flushes an even deeper red and stands from the table.

 

Worry knots in Alistair’s stomach, wondering if he's gone too far, and he drops the overconfident demeanour, opening his mouth to issue an apology when Cullen offers a light bow;

 

'As you say, your Majesty. If you would meet me in my office, I'll be glad to offer compensation for my slight, on bended knee. But if you'll excuse me for now, I've work to attend to.'

 

The other man strides away before Alistair can offer an answer, and he stares after him, wide-eyed, a hot blush on his cheeks. The light titters of the Orlesian nobles has turned into something that's equal measures scandalized and intrigued, masked faces turned towards him as he attempts to bury himself in his breakfast.

 

He catches Artemis's eye as he does so, a smirk on her face as she takes in his flustered appearance.

 

'I have warned you, King Alistair, that Commander Cullen is quite the verbal jouster.'

 

He murmurs something which he knows is entirely unintelligible, into his meal, trying not to embarrass himself further as Elizabeth laughs and pats at his back. The pats turn heavier when he chokes on his food, eyes stinging as a strip of bacon catches in his throat before a firm 'thwack' dislodges it. His face burns, and doesn't cool until long after the nobles have departed and he's left with just the ladies as his companions.

 

'We should probably go and see Cullen...' he mutters when no one is in earshot, and Elizabeth grins.

 

'Eager to see if bended knees will happen, are we?'

 

'No, no.' He waves his hand, worry creases his brow and he can see that Elizabeth catches it, her face softening. 'I'm concerned Cullen won't have seen it as a joke. I always make stupid mistakes like that.' He looks to his wife, her blue eyes warm as they meet his. 'You know what I'm like.'

 

'I do. And I'm certain Cullen was not offended. Still, if it puts your mind at ease...' Her fingers find his, entwining, and he's glad for her warmth and the comfort she offers.

 

He nods, standing from his chair, and it's only now that he notices that Artemis is halfway down the hall already, a placid smile in place as she greets various people whilst manoeuvring towards the door on the far left. They hurry to catch her, worry still knotting his stomach as they pass through the room with its muraled walls.

 

'Artemis,' he calls before she manages to leave through the opposite door, and she stops, turning to face him. 'You don't...is he angry? Can you tell?'

 

Pale blue eyes almost twinkle as a smile tugs at her lips.

 

'I don't think so but...you might want to be ready to bend your own knees, just in case.' She grins and hurries on through the door without another word, leading them out into a crisp autumn morning. As they near the far side of the bridge, where Cullen's office is situated, she slows and beckons for him to take the lead, and loops her arm with Elizabeth's, following him as though they're ladies in waiting.

 

He swallows as he approaches the solid door, running a hand through his hair before quickly knocking.

 

'You knock to enter your subject's office?' Artemis teases, and he makes to reply when a gruff 'Enter!' cuts him off.

 

A glance to the women, who gesture for him to enter like one would a timid child, and he pushes into the darkened room.

 

He's barely through the door when Cullen seizes his arm, using the momentum to spin him and press him to the wall. His back hits the stones with a dull thud, and he opens his mouth to protest, only for his complaint to die as the commander's lips crush against his.

 

There's more teeth in the kiss than what he's used to, Cullen delivering sharp nips, devouring his mouth as he pins him to the wall with his weight, fingers twisting hard in his hair. His free hand is pressing into his shoulder, forcing him back as their chests press together, a kick to his ankle knocking his legs into a wider stance before Cullen forces his own between them. It’s only taken seconds for the man to get him into this position, caught off guard as he was, and somewhere in the back of his mind he worries that had Cullen meant him any harm, he would be completely defenceless now.

 

But he doesn't, and so he isn't. And if he were, Alistair reasons, if there was a way to die happy, this would be it, pinned to a wall by the commander of the Inquisition.

 

Despite it being mere moments since the commander accosted him, his body is already on fire, skin growing damp beneath his finery, cock twitching beneath the heat and pressure of Cullen's body, the onslaught of his attentions. He's left breathless, like some chaste maiden losing her virginity to some strapping knight in shining armour and...well, he supposes that's half true anyway, and he doesn't mind in the slightest. The idea of being swept off his feet has always been rather appealing. It spoke of passion, of being wanted, and the idea that there was more than one person in this world now that felt that way about him made his head spin.

 

He just has to remind his knees not to buckle. That, would be embarrassing. Particularly with Lis and Artemis already giggling to themselves.

 

Lips leave his for a moment, Cullen pulling back to meet his eyes, his own breathing just as ragged. The man's lips are parted and slick, golden eyes dark and blown wide, still glaring, challenging his king to defy him. And Alistair does, just a fraction, a tensing of his shoulders as if preparing to move, just enough to irk the man.

 

The reaction is instant, the hand on his shoulder shoving hard, as if he wasn't already pinned to the wall, and the commander wrenches his head by the grip on his hair, baring his neck to his mouth as Cullen descends again. There's teeth against his throat, scraping across his larynx before latching to the joint of his shoulder, worrying with his teeth before sucking hard. Marking him. And when he's content, his lover pulls back, satisfaction crossing his face as he surveys the bruise.

 

Golden eyes flick to his again, expression changing back to something primal.

 

'I am in no mood for your jests, Alistair.'

 

'I can see that,' he wheezes, chest still crushed beneath Cullen's breastplate, his throat pulled taut. 'Or rather, I can feel that.'

 

He wiggles his eyebrows, as he wiggles his hips, able to feel the other man's length pressed beside his.

 

A snarl crosses Cullen's face in the flickering torchlight, eyes set hard.

 

'Do not test me now. You've been begging me for this with your little teases about knees and punishments, and now you wish to play?' His head shakes slowly, before the hand on Alistair's shoulder moves to lean against the wall beside his head, boxing him in, the commander somehow towering over him, despite being a smidge shorter.

 

He almost shudders at Cullen's tone; dark, smooth, predatory, and he can't do anything but obey. But it surprises him how much he's tempted, just for the thrill of being bound, to feel ropes restrain him and leave him bare and vulnerable to the other man. He'd not considered it before, but now, now it makes his cock twitch insistently in his breeches, an ache setting in as he's constrained by thick fabric.

 

His lover feels it, just as he does, eyebrows lifting a fraction in surprise before a smirk crosses his lips. He knows that look, an idea for a game at a later date, and they both take note, file it away for future trysts.

 

'It would please me to see you so,' he murmurs, lips coming to hover by his ear, 'but for now, we will have to do without.'

 

Teeth scrape against his earlobe, breath warm against the shell of his ear before Cullen pushes away from him with an abrupt shove. He grips him by the arm again, pulling him away from the wall.

 

'Upstairs.' The commander gestures to the ladder that leads to the level above.

 

'Really, Cullen? Now?' Artemis asks, coy, though her eyes linger on the mark Cullen has made on his throat.

 

'Yes, now. If His Majesty wants to play games, he has to learn there are consequences.'

 

Alistair watches with a raised brow as Cullen stalks to the eastern and western doors, slamming down the bars that serve to lock them. He's only interrupted by a rap on the southerly door and he rips it open with a growl.

 

'Not now!'

 

He can’t help but snigger at the barked order the former templar gives his scout as he snatches papers from his hands and slams the door in his face. The bar slots into place a moment later and Cullen rounds on him.

 

'I thought I told you to go upstairs?'

 

'You did,' he replies easily, worry cast aside as his heart beats faster, 'but watching you terrify your underlings is hilarious. Though I think you may owe him some new breeches.'

 

'Oh, I wouldn't worry about that.' Artemis laughs, grinning knowingly, 'Jim's been on the receiving end of worse before now.'

 

The commander rounds on him before he can respond, gripping him by the waist and propelling him backwards, until he feels the rungs of the ladder against his back. His mouth is seized a moment later, a repeat of Cullen's first move, but it leaves him breathless. The hand that's found its way into his hair again is cupping the back of his skull, rather than gripping this time; protecting him from the edges of the ladder's rungs, he realises.

 

'Now. Upstairs, before I bend you over the desk,' Cullen murmurs as he breaks the kiss, his gaze surprisingly tender for a moment, before lust sharpens it once more.

 

Alistair glances to the desk, piled high with books and scrolls, parchment and maps, wondering what it would be like to be pinned to it beneath Cullen's rutting form. Cullen, on the other hand, had clearly worked out a plan already, and with a final wistful gaze to the mahogany, Alistair turns and ascends the ladder.

 

As he nears the top of the ladder, he recognises the loft; not personally of course, he's never been here before, but he remembers Cullen speaking of how he had slept up here before he and Artemis had become a couple. There's a small double bed dominating the room, still made up as though fresh, though the rest of the room's furniture has a fine layer of dust to it.

 

'Been planning, commander?'

 

The other man steps up behind him, boots clunking against the wooden floor of the loft as he approaches, gloved hands coming to rest on his hips. His grip is firm as he takes hold of him, breath warm against the nape of his neck.

 

'If you must know, I keep the bed made in case I ever fall asleep at my desk. Which has been known to happen. But I suppose it's convenient for our purposes too.'

 

He pushes lightly at his hips, and Alistair takes his cue, stepping towards the bed. Behind them, the ladder creaks as Elizabeth and Artemis make their way upstairs, and he casts a smile over his shoulder to them, only to be blocked by Cullen. The man's face is set stern, and he reaches for him again, his hand finding the back of Alistair's neck and drawing him close. A single, soft kiss is pressed to his own lips.

 

And it's all the warning he gets of Cullen's intentions before the commander shoves him backwards by the shoulders, making him stumble the few feet to the bed. He falls on it heavily, the frame groaning and creaking under the sudden appearance of his weight upon it. The addition of Cullen's doesn't help.

 

He almost smothers him with his weight and his passion, mouths crushed as fingers curl in his hair once more. He nips at his lips, until they're almost sore, before moving to his jawline, stubble scraping, Cullen’s fingers tightening in his hair, demanding his neck arch for him. He's more than happy to oblige, welcoming the wet heat of Cullen's mouth upon his throat, feeling his cock twitch in response, beginning to thicken.

 

A moan escapes him, soft, almost non-existent, but Cullen feels it, and puffs of air follow against Alistair's neck as the other man laughs. He returns to his task with eagerness, sucking and biting on the soft skin of his neck and Alistair knows that come morning, he'll have to dig out a high collared shirt to wear. Or perhaps a gorget. It's worth it though, for the heat and pressure, to have Cullen's attention firmly on him as he moves further down.

 

The commander doesn't wait for any sort of response, tugging at the laces of his soft tunic until they're loose, encouraging him to sit up only long enough to pull the garment over his head and toss it aside. Once it's gone, he descends again, faster, harder, teeth marking Alistair's chest and he hisses at the sharp scrape over his nipple, goosebumps rising onto his skin despite the heat flaring in his belly. Hands grip at his hips, holding him still as he tries to buck and roll against him, blunt nails pressing gently as a warning when he doesn't relent.

 

He stills as Cullen's mouth settles to the right of his navel, sucking gently as fingers unbuckle his belt. Thick leather parts, metal clinking as its eased over Alistair's hips, Cullen's hot fingertips trailing in the material's wake. His mouth shadows his fingers, tongue trailing down freckled skin into the cradle of his pelvis, teeth grazing the crest of a hipbone.

 

Hips arch again, slower this time, rolling upwards as he tries to press himself to Cullen's roving tongue, whimpering when his hardening shaft brushes the other man's cheek. There's a soft puff of warm air against his hip as Cullen chuckles, his hand finally wrapping around his length, and he gives a few firm tugs, until he's fully hard, before his lips skim over the head of his cock.

 

He can't help but whimper again, Cullen's lips just damp, teasing as he gently rolls back soft foreskin. And then there's no more teasing as he takes the head into his mouth and sucks hard. He arches, muffles his groan into the crook of his elbow, feeling electricity shocking through his nerves, his cock pulsing in response.

 

It doesn't last long. Cullen withdraws after a few breaths, smugness written in the quirk of his lips, and as he pulls back, gloved hands take hold of his hips.

 

He's flipped without warning, Cullen heaving and turning him, pressing him face down into the mattress as he gives a startled cry. It's loud enough that his lover clamps a hand over his mouth, clambering onto the bed and straddling his back, pressing until his surprise fades. The gloved hand withdraws, as above him, Cullen shifts, and from the rustle of fabric and jingle of metal, he knows that the other man is stripping.

 

Thighs press against his sides as Cullen disrobes, heat seeping through the thick leather to warm his chilled skin, and he wonders if the hole in the roof has always been there. It's admitting enough of a draft to be unpleasant, and he feels his skin rise into goosebumps again, distracting him from Cullen's movements. It's only when the man's weight disappears from his back briefly that he pays attention again, rutting against the sheets to maintain his arousal, aware of just how well displayed he is as the women chuckle.

 

They're perched together on a dresser on the other side of the room, watching intently, smirking as their gazes stray between himself and Cullen. A moment later, and the bed creaks again as Cullen climbs atop him, knees astride his and then his back is blanketed in heat as the other man lays atop him; hot, smooth skin meets his own, and he welcomes the feeling of being enveloped. It makes him feel safe, despite the forcefulness with which Cullen continues to nip at his neck and shoulders, how hard his hands grip at him. How thick the cock resting in the cleft of his buttocks is.

 

Those teeth graze his ear again as Cullen moves against him, rolling his hips lightly now. Each roll presses him harder into the bed, rubbing his cock into the blankets.

 

'Do you want this?' Cullen asks, voice low and husky, his question punctuated by a firm roll of his hips.

 

Alistair can only nod, shivers of anticipation thrilling down his spine. He moans when Cullen presses in closer again.

 

'Are you ready?'

 

'Maker, yes...' he murmurs, eyes falling shut as Cullen places a gentle kiss just below his ear.

 

'Up then,' he orders as he shifts his weight off him, and Alistair feels the cold air sharp on his skin as Cullen withdraws.

 

He does as he asks, rising from the bed and onto all fours, facing their ladies, noting how they watch whatever Cullen's doing with fascination. Craning his neck, he peers over his shoulder as the commander rests back on his haunches, his hands, slick with oil, running over his shaft, coating it thoroughly.

 

Swallowing he watches with rapt attention, nervousness welling. They had done this before, but so long ago, and despite the pleasure he knew it would bring he couldn't help but remember the initial discomfort. He meets Cullen's eyes, blown wide and dark with arousal, swallows again, even as his cock pulses at the sight of the other man, heat coiling low in his belly.

 

Cullen evidently notices his hesitation, for he smiles, shifting forward until he's pressed against him again.

 

'We'll take it slow, alright? I won't hurt you. If you need to stop, tell me.'

 

He's always the same, Alistair thinks as he nods and smiles at his partner. For all the strength and confidence and commands, Cullen always pains himself on ensuring everyone's wellbeing, just for a moment before he slips back into character.

 

Warm hands settle on his hips, firm now, and Alistair looks over his shoulder again, a final nod to confirm his readiness as his hands fist at the sheets beneath him. His breath halts.

 

The sensation is as bizarre as ever, the head of Cullen's oil slicked cock pressing to his entrance with just enough pressure to begin to breach him. He tenses, feeling back muscles seize as his fingers all but tear the sheets. It takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm and relax again as Cullen halts, to bring himself back under control, and a rough hand squeeze at his hip in response, reassuring despite the lack of words.

 

In fact there's a lack of any noise at all, save his own ragged breathing. He's not sure if it's just him, his attention so focused on the man behind him, or if the world has actually fallen silent for them.

 

Said silence shatters a moment later when Cullen eases forwards again, the widening tip of his shaft parting him. It's not quite uncomfortable, the stretch so slow that he wonders if his lover is even gaining any ground. He grunts without really knowing why, more nerves than actual sensation, and Cullen takes it as a cue to withdraw. The chill returns, and he whimpers, turns to look over his shoulder to plead with Cullen to continue, to explain that it wasn't a protestation, only to let his mouth fall still at the sight of Cullen slathering more oil onto his length.

 

It stands proud, thick and hard, glistening in the sunlight streaming in from the slitted windows, dappling through the leaves of the tree that's half grown into the room. He can't help but be mesmerised by the view as Cullen pushes through his oil slicked fist, foreskin rolling back as he does to reveal the reddened glans. A low chuckle catches his attention and he glances up to meet Cullen's amused gaze before the man crawls over him again.

 

'As much as I like having your complete attention, I'd like you to look forwards.'

 

He does as he's asked, turning his head back, letting it hang low between his shoulders;

 

'Why?'

 

'Because,' Cullen hums, the tip of his cock poised at his entrance again, 'I want the girls to see your face when I fuck you.'

 

The commander presses forwards on those final words, hanging onto his hips, and Alistair feels him push further, until the thick head is nestled inside him. His head snaps back at the sudden stretch, a strangled moan leaving his throat.

 

Vaguely, he hears quiet laughter, their women amused by their play, but he can't bring himself to look at them now, to meet their eyes as Cullen eases in further. He presses on, slow but sure, every inch stretching and filling until Alistair feels the hard lines of hipbones against his backside. His breath shudders, knuckles whitening as he grips the sheets as his lover rubs his hands over his flanks, reassuring, until he relaxes beneath him.

 

The hands gripping his waist slide forwards and Cullen leans over him, muscled chest pressing to his back as rough hands press to his belly. When the other man is all but draped over him, his warmth sinking into his skin until he's completely enveloped in it, he sighs, content with the now languid pace. Kisses flutter over his shoulder blades, pressed here and there, only ever for a second or two, before there's a gentle thud on his back.

 

He twists, curious, realising when he can't move, that it's Cullen's head resting between his shoulder blades. The man seems happy to stay there for a moment, resting against him, as much of their skin touching as possible, as he adjusts to Cullen's length. Still, as enjoyable as the moments are, he can feel himself growing restless, eager to feel each sting of pleasure when his partner inevitably starts thrusting.

 

But first, he kisses him, a hand reaching over his shoulder as Cullen arches above him, stretching, cupping his cheek as a thumb runs over his bottom lip. He turns as best as he can, whining at the increased pressure that Cullen's change in position puts on him. He'd gladly be blanketed in that weight for the subtle roll of Cullen's hips it requires, just enough to nudge at the spot inside him that he’s remembered from so long ago. He shudders.

 

From the nearby dresser there's a soft gasp as their lips connect, and he cracks an eye open to chance a glance at their women. Both are enraptured, Elizabeth's breathing uneven as she watches them, her lips curled into a gentle smile at the display before them and it's clear that Alistair's submission rouses more than primal lust in her. But it's Artemis's expression that catches him off guard, a barely restrained hunger alight in her eyes as she chews on her lower lip, softened only by the clear understanding of the tenderness in the act she's witnessing.

 

'Cullen...' he can't help but let the name tumble from his lips as the former templar breaks their kiss.

 

He knows what it is, a quiet plea to continue as desire begins to overwhelm and Cullen shifts back a little, straightening as he seizes Alistair’s hips again. He's painfully slow as he starts to withdraw, sliding out of him inch by inch, leaving him feeling pleasantly boneless and, somehow, unpleasantly empty at the same time. He wants more. For all that he enjoyed the commander's gentle attentions, it's not what he wants now, what he needs now, and he jerks his hips back towards his lover, hoping he'll take the hint.

 

And he does. Maker, he does, blunt nails suddenly growing sharp against his skin, seconds before Cullen plows forwards, burying himself with one sure stroke. A groan leaves him, rumbling from his throat as he's left empty again, Cullen's hands tilting his hips before he strikes out again, burying himself once more. Each time is smoother, less resistance, leaving only pleasant friction, so that when he finds his spot again, he drags against it. Alistair doesn't bother to hold back that cry, pleasure singing along his nerves, the fire in his belly renewed as the pressure in his cock seems to knot, pressing deep, making him harder.

 

'Maker's breath...'

 

It's Elizabeth's clear voice that breaks that hushed rhythm of skin against skin, the rustle of the sheets and whispers of breath, and Alistair glances to their ladies again. The tenderness on his queen's face is all but gone, replaced by lust, her sharp eyes roving over the exposed flesh of their bodies. Artemis's hands are fidgeting, pulling at the hem of her clothes, barely blinking as she watches, only breaking her stare to glance at the woman sat beside her. They share a look, an agreement passing between them before Elizabeth nods, her back straightening as she lifts her chin.

 

'Show us.' Her commanding tone leaves no room for argument, her gaze fixed on Cullen to deliver her order. 'Show him to us.'

 

His skin prickles at the words, a blush somehow managing to rise to his cheeks, embarrassed and aroused at the same time. Warm hands slide from his hips to his chest, splaying against his skin as Cullen shuffles his stance wider behind him, encouraging him to follow suit. Managing to shift his legs a few inches wider, those hands press to him, drawing him up from the bed and back against Cullen's chest. Once he's upright, those arms wrap around him, anchoring him in place. It's not an ideal position, the change making Cullen's upward thrusts shallower, and he can't quite reach that spot any more. But the stretch and pressure and heat is still there, and now there's a hand ghosting down his abdomen, wrapping around his shaft.

 

He groans, flushing deeper at his own noise, his head reclining to rest on Cullen's shoulder and he distracts himself with mouthing at the strong jawline, his tongue and lips scratched by stubble as he does. It's almost too much to know what he must look like, his chest heaving with effort and thighs spread wide, muscles drawn taut as he's displayed to their audience.

 

Behind him, Cullen grunts, grinding against him, turning his head to crush his mouth in a kiss. His tight fist rolls along his shaft, squeezing just enough to keep his attention focused on it, the roll of hips become a pleasant background sensation as his cock pulses.

 

'I wish I had a mirror in here,' Cullen murmurs into his ear, and he flicks his eyes open, catching sight of the other man's lust blown gaze until the press of his thumb again his cock’s head breaks his gaze again. 'I wish I could see how you look, spread wide with me inside you.' A pause as the commander's breath hitches for a moment, before he rumbles into his ear. 'Should we ask the girls?'

 

He can't find the words to reply, whimpering as Cullen presses his nose into his cheek, the gesture so tender for such salacious talk.

 

It breaks when he moves again, a sudden hard thrust that makes him cry out loud enough that he worries someone will hear.

 

'Well, ladies?' Cullen asks, a growl to his voice now as fingernails scrape over his nipple, and Alistair feels himself jerk in response, his cock beginning to leak, clenched as it is in Cullen's fist. 'How does our king look?'

 

There are soft murmurings from the other side of the small chamber, the familiar sounds of Elizabeth and Artemis's voice, though he can't make out the words. Cullen hums in thought next to him, hips still rolling, fist still wrapped around his length.

 

'Our ladies are rather impressed by the view, your Majesty,' he murmurs when the softer voices have ceased. The rumble of Cullen's voice sets his nerves on edge, as if those gentle vibrations have just driven him a step closer to his end. 'I imagine I would be too, sat there, watching you writhe. You look rather...fuckable, I suspect.'

 

He lets out a low groan in response, unable to think of words anymore, and Cullen chuckles before gripping his chin, turning his head away.

 

'Open your eyes.' The command comes gentle but compelling, and he follows the order, blinking against soft daylight to look at Elizabeth and Artemis once more.

 

Their women, two of the most powerful and influential in all of Thedas, are all but squirming with arousal. His queen watches with rapt attention, smirks when his eyes flutter and his mouth opens at a particularly vicious thrust from behind, though she shows no sign of moving. Artemis, however, perches on the edge of her cabinet, her bottom lip twisted between her teeth, fingertips wandering dangerously close to the top of her thighs, wanting to touch but still restrained by self-awareness. Her eyes are fixed though, caught on the sight of Alistair's thick cock, pulsing and hard in Cullen's fist.

 

To his surprise, it's Elizabeth who encourages her to give into her impulse, a soft smile and tilt of her head towards him.

 

'Help yourself.'

 

Artemis hesitates a moment, looking back to them before standing slowly, shedding clothes and moving towards them with a confidence he's rarely seen in her before. Her steps are slow, purposeful, eyes taking in details of the scene in front of her, evidence of her arousal shining at the apex of her thighs, clear on the parting of her lips.

 

Elizabeth stretches out on the cabinet behind her, impossibly long legs parting as she watches the other woman. Alistair feels his attention wavering, caught between the sensation of Cullen's body against him, the soft sway of Artemis's hips and breasts as she advances, the slow creep of Elizabeth's fingers to the tips of her hardened nipples.

 

But it's Artemis and Cullen who win for now, the sight of her sinking to her knees in front of him drawing his attention back, though he's keenly aware of his queen pleasuring herself to the sight of them.

 

Artemis pauses before him again, shyness almost returned, startled when Alistair gives a loud moan. It turns to a keen as Cullen reaches down, arm pressed against the solid line of his waist to grip his head of his arousal, keeping careful eye contact with her as he slowly slides back dark foreskin, revealing the entirety of Alistair's head, wet with precum and he swirls a thumb through it slowly, spreading the liquid about the crown, offering the length to her.

 

She eyes him, appraising, before reaching to take him in her hand, brushing against Cullen's briefly before he returns to running his hands over Alistair's bare skin. He watches, entranced by the way she lick her lips before taking his cock into her mouth slowly, red lips wrapping about his head.

 

It's an effort not to thrust, the warm wetness of her mouth suddenly pushing him almost to the edge, and he grits his teeth as he groans, willing himself away from the peak. Even through the heavy lust he knows he'd be mortified for it to end so soon, and he winds a hand through the honey strands of her hair, the other finding Cullen's firm backside, anchoring himself between them.

 

As if they've planned this all along, they work in unison, Artemis taking in as much of his length as she can manage, Cullen slowing his thrusts so as to not choke her with the force. He grinds instead, rolling upwards hard, enough to make him gasp and shake, pulsing in Artemis's mouth, colour exploding at the edge of his vision as they topple him over the edge in just a few moments.

 

Artemis pulls back, her lips swollen and red, glistening with his spend as she swallows. She grimaces, and he can't help but laugh, despite the warm tiredness that's settling over him, and reaches for her, pulling her up to him and pressing his lips to hers. He can taste himself, not so different from what he’s used to from Cullen, and he grins at her when they separate.

 

'Sorry, it's not...'

 

He's cut off mid sentence by a grunt, Cullen's hips slamming hard into him, knocking him onto all fours. Artemis tumbles with him, caught under his weight, pinned by the two of them, her skin warm and soft.

 

'You can talk,' Cullen grunts, his hips shifting harder now, 'when Artemis and I have finished.'

 

The next thrust catches him off guard, rubbing against the spot that makes his hips jerk and his back arch involuntarily and he hisses, recently spent nerves firing again.

 

'I'd get to it, if I were you,' Cullen advises, murmuring into his ear.

 

'I've just...' he grunts, shifting some of his weight off Artemis, '...the warden stamina thing isn't that good.'

 

'Then I suggest you find something else to do with your mouth in the meantime.'

 

There's a smirk in the commander's voice, despite his soft panting, his hands gripping hard on his hips. Beneath him, Artemis wriggles, shifting back, and he meets her eyes as evenly as he can with Cullen pressing into him. She'd shied away from this before, and even with Cullen's encouragement, he isn't sure she'd be willing.

 

Pale blue eyes hold his, uncertainty flickering for a moment before she takes a breath and nods, shuffling towards him again before lying back, thighs spread wide in invitation. Her chest rises and falls shakily as she does, fingers tensed in the sheets under her hands and he shifts forwards slowly, positioning himself above her.

 

Behind him, Cullen slows, the roll of his hips growing languid, allowing them to adjust, and Alistair's grateful for it as he rests his hands on Artemis's thighs, gently gripping soft flesh as he leans down to kiss at her inner thigh. His tongue flicks out to taste her skin, thumbs massaging at muscles as he encourages her to relax, his kisses edging closer to her centre.

 

He can smell her as he approaches, her scent tickling his nose as he runs his tongue along the crease of her thigh, moaning lowly as Cullen grinds against him, and she twitches beneath him. He stills his tongue, lifting his head to glance up at her. Her lips are parted as she breaths heavily, eyes wide but her gaze steady.

 

'You're sure?' he asks, his voice rough and she nods, eager.

 

'Please.'

 

He grins at that, quickly lowering himself again, his hands sliding under her buttocks to lift her before running his tongue over her seam, testing, tasting. His cock twitches at her taste, the way her hips wriggle beneath him beginning to stoke his lust again and any sense of holding back is lost in the flicker of electricity through his nerves.

 

His tongue delves, swipes, presses, prods, finding the spots that make her writhe and buck beneath him and he feels himself harden with each pass of his tongue, swelling with each quiet moan that Artemis gives.

 

Cullen picks up his pace again now, his thrusts growing harder, faster, and Alistair grunts as that spot is nudged again, his back arching, face pressing against wet folds as Artemis's fingers grip his hair. Within a few breaths he's hard again, and he lets the weight of Cullen's body force him down into the mattress, rutting against rumpled sheets as he listens to Artemis' mews, savouring her taste. It's only when her fingers seize sharply in his hair that he halts, pulling away to meet her eyes, relishing the way she's panting, eyes blown with lust.

 

Within second of him shifting away from her, she shuffles towards him and he lifts himself onto all fours again, groaning hard as the move shifts Cullen against his sweet spot. An arm suddenly grips at his hair from behind, guiding him to turn his head and the commander pulls him in for a kiss that's all teeth and tongue, licking Artemis's arousal from his lips and chin, almost purring as he does.

 

Softer hands finds his neck as they kiss, small delicate fingers coaxing his attention down again and he turns, captures Artemis's mouth as he reaches down to position himself at her entrance, sliding into her with the slightest push of Cullen's hips.

 

He tenses, groans, unable to decide whether his focus should be on the stretch of his backside or the hot wetness enveloping his cock. It's almost too much, trapped between their bodies, Artemis's hands finding his shoulders and tugging him down against her, her soft mouth pressed against his, moaning lightly, so lost in the sensation that he can't even gather his wits to pleasure her.

 

Not that he needs to, as Cullen takes control once more, hips gather speed, pushing him into Artemis with every hard thrust, groaning and panting, his breath harsh in the air, mingling with his lovers'.

 

Sweat builds on his back and chest, slick between their bodies as they writhe together, limbs entangled, an endless push and pull of breath and sound and sensation, until he feels himself reaching that familiar climb. Cullen's pushing him ever on, the man's breathing ragged, holding himself back, and Alistair wonders if it's pure stubbornness that's pushing the commander now.

 

It doesn't matter, they're both close, and Artemis has yet to come. He means to rectify that, reaching for a thigh and pushing it wide, back towards her shoulder, encouraging her to take him deeper. She does so beautifully, her hips pressing up to meet his and he descends on her neck, hands sliding beneath her to grab at her buttocks, gripping tight as Cullen's motions rock them both. He kisses and nips, tasting salt and vanilla on softly golden skin, his teeth grazing hard, and Cullen delivers a particularly vicious thrust. His warble of pleasure seems to transfer to her, and she cries out, his teeth leaving an angry red trail on her neck.

 

His head spins, senses almost reaching breaking point again, and he grits his teeth, buries his forehead in her neck, holding back his own pleasure, when surprise takes him as Cullen rams home, voice spilling into a roar as he comes. The fingers on his hips clamp down hard and he hisses at the bite of nails in his skin, grunts as Cullen all but collapses on top of him.

 

Pressed down by Cullen's weight, there's little he can do to drag Artemis to her climax, and he wriggles his hips as best as he can, only able to deliver short sharp thrusts. It seems enough for now though, the woman beneath him moaning in time with each jab he makes into her, her voice pitching high until Cullen gains the presence of mind to roll off him. He feels it immediately, his back unpleasantly cool and damp without the blanket of his lover's body, cooling liquid trickling down his thigh as he rolls his hips back to deliver a harder thrust.

 

Cullen seems to catch his drift despite not saying a words, the commander crawling up behind Artemis, pausing them for a moment to pin her between them, his hands taking up where Alistair couldn't. He watches in fascination as her breasts are squeezed in rough palms, hard nipples disappearing between fingers before being pinched firmly, drawing a wail from her as she arches, and it spurs him on. He plunges harder, faster, listening to her rising keens, biting at his lip to hold himself back until finally, blessedly, he feels the telltale clench of her walls about him, her wail as she suddenly peaks, dragging him over the edge with her.

 

It takes longer to recover this time, he thinks dimly, cushioned against Artemis's warm body, Cullen's strong arms around them both, and he blinks and sighs as he regains his senses, lifting his head from the inquisitor's impressive bosom. She smiles at him as she does, eyes bright, though a flush covers her cheeks, and he smiles back, kissing her softly before leaning over her shoulder to kiss Cullen.

 

'You...I didn't hurt you? Either of you?' the commander asks as they part, worry clear in amber eyes, and Alistair sniggers to himself at how this bold, confident man so easily softens when his loves are near.

 

'Can't say that you did,' he murmurs as Artemis hums, before he grins again, 'though I'm fairly certain I won't be walking in a straight line for the rest of the day.'

 

Cullen flushes red at the comment, even as he laughs, his hand reaching up to rub at his neck.

 

'And you're well too, Artemis?' he asks, deflecting, and Alistair sniggers again as he slides himself free, and stands, wobbling slightly as he does. Hands are on him in an instant, steadying him, and he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry that three pairs of arms are holding him, Elizabeth rejoining them as their afterglow fades.

 

He's not used to this, concern from so many people at once, always expecting to be told to 'grow up' or 'be a man' even after all these years. But there's nothing of the sort here, no irritation, no judgement, just gentle support and it touches him more than he cares to admit.

 

'Well' he coughs, running his hand through his hair, mind racing for a distraction, 'I guess...'

 

He's cut off by a pair of lips on his, Elizabeth's he knows, and he allows himself to be quieted by her before she breaks away, a knowing smile on painted lips as she slinks away to retrieve his clothes. On the bed, commander and inquisitor are dressing slowly, and he looks away, unwilling to intrude upon their moment, until warm arms come around him once again.

 

'Thank you,' Artemis murmurs, looking up at him, her pale blue eyes wide and soft in the late morning light.

 

He can only smile at that, no need to retort, for once, comfortable with this, and he feels his wife's hand slip into his before Cullen presses in, a soft kiss on his temple before the commander retreats with a nod, mantle back in place once more as he disappears down the ladder.

 

'I believe our commander has decided that his morning break is over,' Artemis chuckles, pinning her hair back in place. Or attempting to. She frowns when a lock falls loose, glaring at the swathe of blonde even as Elizabeth clucks and steps forwards, brushing the hair into place with startling precision, until it lies tamed and pinned once again.

 

'I suspect he has a point, I have some letters I need to look over,' the inquisitor murmurs, smiling her thanks at Elizabeth as the taller woman nods.

 

'Back to the grindstone then?'

 

'Alas.' She grins. 'But we'll see you at dinner?'

 

'Of course.' Elizabeth smiles back, and Artemis nods before descending the ladder, the murmur of voices reaching them as she bids Cullen a good day before.

 

They slide down after, offering goodbyes to the commander who's already buried in reports as they leave.

 

'Shall we walk?' Lis asks, sliding her hand into the crook of his arm, and he grins down at her as Barkspawn joins them.

 

'I'm not sure walking is something I'm capable of doing without attracting attention,' he mutters, noticing the ache that's starting to develop. Elizabeth stifles a snigger into her palm as their aides approach.

 

'Your Majesties, Lady Montilyet has requested your presence. She wishes to discuss details about the departure ball.'

 

'Of course. Tell the ambassador we'll be there shortly.' 

 

The servant bows, turning on his heel and running off while Alistair lets out a quiet groan.

 

'Wonderful...a day sat discussing which shade of yellow we want on the banners...'

 

Elizabeth swats him on the arm and he grasps at it, as if she'd mortally wounded him, setting her to tittering.

 

'Such violence, my lady.'

 

'Lady Montilyet has worked hard to accommodate us. The least we can do is be gracious in accepting and aid her.' She grins, rolling her eyes.

 

'So...marigold or daffodil then?'

 

She snorts, a most unladylike sound that she rarely makes, and he guffaws at the noise, more so at the indignant look she sends him.

 

'Remind me to make sure there's no cushion on your chair when we get to the office.'

 

His smile doesn't falter.

 

'You wouldn't do that to me.'

 

'Wouldn't I?' She lifts a copper eyebrow before pausing. 'Actually, you're right. I wouldn't. Not when it might dissuade you from...repeat performances.'

 

He flushes instantly in the cool air, cheeks burning.

 

'You...enjoyed the show then?' he manages to reply, less than covertly glancing around for anyone nearby who might overhear.

 

'There's no-one within hearing range. And yes, of course I did. It's what I've been hoping for since you first told me about yourself and Cullen.'

 

'Curiosity sated then?'

 

'Oh no.' She laughs. 'Only just piqued, I'm afraid.'

 

'You utter minx,' he growls, feeling a familiar twitch in his loins, and he doesn't know how he's going to cope with a third session before lunch. 'Do you know what you're doing to me?'

 

Elizabeth smiles up at him, knowing, and her hand slips from his elbow into his palm, fingers twining.

 

'How about we find a storeroom and you can show me?'

 

'And the ambassador?'

 

'Oh...I'm sure she can manage for a few moments without us. After all, we're Fereldan savages. What would we know about ballroom decorations?'

 

'An excellent point my lady and...oh, look, I think I spy a dusty storeroom.' He veers them off course, into the aforementioned room.

 

It's not a storeroom. It's not even unused. But it is empty and that's all he needs for now as he locks the door behind them, leaving a whining Barkspawn to guard duty once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Any comments, kudos and constructive criticism always greatly received.
> 
> Aaannnddd as always, still lurking about on [tumblr](http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com/)


	20. Afternoon Tea (NSFW - Artemis x Elizabeth x Cullen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing sexier than a good 'ol cuppa....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who kudos'd, commented etc. on the last chapter, much appreciated as always.

It's late afternoon by the time Artemis finally gets to sit down, and she does so with equal parts relief and tentativeness, sinking into a decadently plush chair with a soft groan. Her back and hips ache, along with the balls of her feet, after a long day spent scurrying around Skyhold on her neverending quest to meet with various dignitaries.

 

She doesn't ever want to move again.

 

'I'll forego the formality of asking if you would like a cup of tea and just make one, shall I?' Cullen questions with a quirked brow. Her own lifts in response.

 

'Isn't that essentially asking me if I would like a cup of tea?'

 

He smirks, brushing a kiss across her forehead before moving to fill the kettle.

 

'Yes. But under normal circumstances I would wait for an answer. This is one of those not so rare occasions where I can be certain the answer is yes.'

 

'When it comes to tea, Cullen, the answer is always yes.'

 

He chuckles, setting to filling the kettle, and she sighs again, squirming against velvet covered cushions to get more comfortable even as she attempts to remove her boots. She stills as he lifts an eyebrow again, watching her, half amused and half annoyed, at her paltry endeavour to undress.

 

'You'll ruin those boots,' he scolds, amusement colouring his voice as he drops pinches of leaves into a pot. Preparations complete, he leaves the kettle to boil, stripping off the outer layers of his clothing until he stands before her in shirt and breeches, feet bare against the floor. He strides over to her before dropping to his knees, easing the boots from her feet.

 

Warm fingers run against the arch of her foot, tickling briefly before his thumbs press into tender muscles, prompting a shudder to run through her.

 

'Good?'

 

She can only nod at the question, sinking back further into the cushions as his fingers ease the soreness from her feet. Working upwards, he peels off the long skirt she's wearing. With her legs exposed, his hand eases up to cup her calf, fingers rubbing firm circles as lips kiss slow trails up her shin, pausing at her knee. There's a wonderfully sly smile slanting his lips as golden eyes meet her own.

 

'Something on your mind?' she asks, stretching out her sore back, trying to ignore the warm tingle that his fingertips evoke in her skin.

 

'A good many things,' the smile fades somewhat, eyes darkening as his expression becomes more serious, 'I've a mind to...'

 

The sudden rattle of the kettle's lid cuts him off mid sentence and Artemis smiles as he curses and stands, rushing to the boiling water and pulling it from the hearth. Huffing to himself, he sets it aside, eyes rolling to the ceiling, and she giggles at the perturbed expression that crosses his face.

 

'Tea first, then?' she prompts, and he sighs once more before nodding, pouring water onto the tea leaves. 'Although...'.

 

Her commander's ears prick.

 

'Although?'

 

'Well, that tea will take a moment to steep. It would be a terrible waste not to make use of that time.'

 

He snorts lightly.

 

'Five minutes? I'm good, my love, but I think you overestimate my abilities. Or, perhaps, underestimate them.'

 

'Oh I don't know, a five minute warm up is well within your means.'

 

His familiar sly smile returns and he nods, crossing back to her in a breath and scooping her up from the chair, carrying her over to the bed and setting her down.

 

'I admit...after this morning, I'm surprised you're feeling so enthusiastic.'

 

'You mean, you're surprised I'm not all shagged out?'

 

He splutters at her bluntness and she giggles at the flush that lights his cheeks.

 

'Ah...yes, that.'

 

'I think I could go again...if you could?'

 

There's an almost timid smile curling his lips as he nods.

 

'I think that might just be possible.'

 

He leans in, lips pressing to hers again in a heartbeat, pressing her down into the bed. She follows him willingly, letting him hold her against soft sheets, his body reassuring in its pressure, its warmth. Until her leg gives an involuntary twinge, and she hisses, twitching, a spasm of pain rushing through the limb.

 

Above her, Cullen jerks back, concern written across his face.

 

'Artemis?'

 

She grimaces, clutching at blankets until muscles ease, meeting his concerned gaze with what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

 

'Just a twinge,' she explains, wiggling her toes, relieved when no more pain shoots through the limb.

 

Pulling back completely, Cullen frowns, hand skimming down the offending leg, his fingertips raising goosebumps in her flesh.

 

'Perhaps I should let you have that cup of tea after all.'

 

'...Maybe just until the stiffness has eased.'

 

With an uncharacteristically broad grin, he retreats.

 

'Believe me, my lady, the stiffness will not ease.'

 

She giggles again at his meaning, watching as he slides from the bed to return to the tea table, unable to overlook the subtle tenting of his leather breeches. Such thick material was good at hiding his state, but over the course of their relationship, she had become more accustomed to the small details about him and his standard attire. So much so that she could usually tell in a heartbeat when something was out of place with him.

 

Stretching her leg out, Artemis sits up, eyes tracking her commander's movements as he prepares her tea. His motions are always so careful, yet so graceful, she wonders how a man his size can move in such as way. True, Alistair moved with an odd grace too, although he seemed to forget it as soon as he became aware someone was watching. Cullen though...it was woven into his nature so thoroughly that even that presence of his seemed to be both instinctive and carefully considered.

 

Task complete, he turns back to her, still smirking, before passing her drink over, and she takes it gratefully, letting the hot liquid soothe her throat as she sinks back against deep pillows. Cullen returns to sit on the bed beside her legs, coaxing the one that pains her into his lap, warm hands running over her skin once more, a lighter touch than that which he'd used before. After a moment, he pauses, ideas running through his mind and with a gentle smile, he leans over to the small bedside table, plucking a small vial of oil from it.

 

Curious, she lifts an eyebrow, wondering just what he has in mind, a shiver of anticipation running through her that she tries to hide behind a sip of tea. He catches it, regardless, smile turning ever so slightly devious as he coats his hands in a familiarly scented oil. It's not, she realises, the oil they use for intimate occasions, but the one he sometimes uses in his baths, that smells of oakmoss and elderflower.

 

His hands gleaming with the oil, he takes her foot in his hands once more, repeating his earlier motions, friction eased by the oil leaving only pleasant pressure. She melts under his touch, watching through hooded eyes as he kneads and rolls her flesh and joints, working every inch of her foot until it’s thoroughly relaxed before moving upwards again, lavishing the same attention on her aching calf.

 

She melts, tea in hand as she sips at it, feeling the skin beneath Cullen's palm tingling, muscles warm and loose. He works upwards steadily to her knee, halting his advances only to repeat the attention on her other leg, his smile returning as he reaches her knee again, pressing kisses to the joint at he parts her skirt further, revealing warm golden thighs.

 

Oil soaks into fabric as he parts it, dark splotches on pale cloth, and Artemis reaches down with a free hand, tugging the material aside for him. She feels brazen at the motion, despite the fact he's seen her nude a hundred times before, and her fingers twitch for a moment, until she remembers to release the fabric.

 

Her commander, however, pays her no mind, and sets to trailing kisses over her thighs, stubble scratching against soft flesh, his hands following the sweeping lines of her legs, always massaging. She sighs, sinking back into deep pillows as he continues his previous task, rubbing at tight muscles until she lies near boneless beneath him. So warm, so ensconced in the delightful sensations, she almost misses her teacup tipping and Cullen jerks away, catching the china in a large hand and carefully setting it on to the bedside table.

 

'Enjoying yourself then?'

 

Heat creeps onto her cheeks at her inattentiveness, though she's sure the knowing glimmer in his eye has something to do with it too, and she nods, clearing her throat.

 

'Perhaps I should...get some air?'

 

'You could...' Cullen nods amicably. 'Or...you could take off that blouse and let me find the rest of those sore spots that are troubling you so.'

 

She chuckles at that, his flirtation helping to ease the colour on her cheeks, and she flicks her gaze over him before letting it rest on his still tented breeches.

 

'And I suppose that would have nothing to do with it?' She grins, nodding to the taut fabric.

 

'None at all,' Cullen denies, twisting onto all fours to crawl towards her, until he's above her once more. 'My concern is entirely for my lady's well-being.'

 

'Such a gentleman,' she coos, grinning as he sinks against her, body pressing her back into the bed, and she shimmies to let him closer, parting her legs, eager to feel the warmth of him between her thighs. A soft grunt and he rolls against her, just once, teasing, the leather of his trousers rough against her smalls. The fact they're growing damp doesn't help any, and she casts her sight down the length of their entwined forms to where her legs rest around his waist, noting how his shirt is growing damp as the oil on her legs slowly seeps into rough cotton.

 

'You should really take that off before it gets ruined,' she murmurs, watching as the material begins to cling to the skin beneath. Cullen pauses above her, head turning just so from its position at her shoulder, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks;

 

'Well, we wouldn't want a tatty old shirt ruined now, would we?'

 

He rears back, pulling the shirt off in one swift motion and Artemis has to remind herself not to lick her lips at the sight of toned muscles as they're revealed. Bare-chested, he pauses, looking down at her with equal parts amusement and desire, before some idea lights his eyes and he leans to the side, snatching the oil from the side again. When he deposits a generous drizzle of it onto his chest, she can't help but give in to the urge to lick her lips and he smirks, smug again as he smooths the oil across his torso.

 

Oil-slickened, he all but glows in the late afternoon light, and she pulses at the view; swells of muscles accented in golden light, rippling as he sinks to all fours again, making to crawl atop her once more.

 

She's moving before she realises what she's doing, tugging at laces and buttons, ridding herself of her clothing as quickly as she can. In the back of her mind it strikes her that she's never been this eager before, this hungry for attention, and she wonders if the last week of near constant sex has shifted her libido to something more voracious than before. If it has, she welcomes it; she's never felt more sensual, more wanted, more alive within her own body than she does now, connecting with the physical in a way she hadn't known was possible.

 

And then she's free, skin bared and clothing tossed aside, and within moments Cullen's broad hands are on her shoulders, pushing her back into the mattress before he tips the remaining contents of the vial onto her skin. It's only lightly warmed and she can't help a gasp as it trickles over her bare chest, running swift between the valley of her breasts to pool in her navel. Above her, Cullen follows the oil's path with rapt attention, eyes darkening as he leans in to run a finger through the thin trickle.

 

Warmth spreads as he smooths the oil over the gentle curve of her stomach, fingertips drawing elaborate patterns that meet and split, merging until her belly wears a light sheen. When he's satisfied that her abdomen is suitably covered, he shifts his attention upwards.

 

Wet heat closes around her already stiffened nipple, teeth scraping, alternating between nibbling and sucking, his hands full of as much of each breast as he can manage. He isn't gentle, the thumb and finger circling her unattended nipple pinching and pulling, demanding a reaction as his fingers knead the rest of her generous flesh. She's aching by the time his mouth pulls away, borderline sore and certainly desperate, and yet still he lavishes her attention on her chest. Fingers press, pull, pinch and roll, coaxing her to a hardness she hadn't known possible, the oil smoothing his way, offering a pleasant relief to the rough friction of his fingers. With every pass of fingertips, the oil grows warmer, her core slicker until she's all but writhing beneath him, desperate for his attention to descend to where she pulses.

 

'Cullen, please...' Her voice is breathy, needy, even to her own ears and she wonders how wanton she must look as she spreads her thighs in invitation, her chest heaving with each breath.

 

'Yes, Cullen, please...' comes a voice she'd not expected, and Artemis jerks upright just as Cullen twists to glare at the intruder. Panic blossoms in her chest for a moment, until she notices just who the new voice belongs to.

 

Standing stock still at the top of the stairs are Alistair and Elizabeth, the former's face a healthy shade of red, his hand gripping at the railings. He looks somewhere between apologetic and embarrassed, and Artemis recalls that they had agreed to meet for afternoon tea, and that they should let themselves into her and Cullen's chambers when ready.

 

Clearly, none of them had expected this.

 

And yet, for all that Elizabeth is still standing beside Alistair, it's apparent in the gleam of her eyes that she's not put off by the situation, and Artemis almost shivers as the woman's gaze rakes over her, taking in every detail of her oiled form. She pulses again, heavy, hot, and before she knows what she's doing, she's rising up onto her knees, pulling herself as tall as she can, displaying herself for the newcomers. Beside her, Cullen lifts an eyebrow.

 

'Would you care to join us?' The invitation spills from her lips with barely a thought, her arousal dictating her actions, and even Elizabeth's eyebrows lift in surprise though her smile becomes entirely pleased.

 

'I would...' Elizabeth steps forwards a pace or two before stopping, turning to glance at her husband who looks on, wide-eyed.

 

'Alistair?' Artemis asks, prompting the king's eyes to flit between her and his wife, uncertainty present as he looks to Cullen and then back to her.

 

'I...uh, I may give this one a miss, if you don't mind.'

 

His rejection stings as much as it surprises, and Artemis feels her brow furrow, her displeasure apparently plain when Alistair waves his hands apologetically.

 

'No, no, not like that, Artemis, you look...I mean the two of you together is...' He pauses, takes a breath to interrupting his own babbling. 'I would like to but...I'm a little...worn out, lately.'

 

She lifts her own eyebrow now, wondering where the famed warden stamina had disappeared to, before the sly smirk on Elizabeth's lips informs her.

 

'We...may have had a follow up session to this morning,' she explains lightly, and Alistair, if possible, turns an even deeper shade of red.

 

'I'll just...go and stand over there,' he gestures to the tea table, '...until, you know, you've, um, finished.'

 

He all but runs to the little table, and busies himself with making a cup of tea while Cullen chuckles.

 

'All the more for us then,' Elizabeth all but purrs, her eyes flicking to Cullen who nods his assent.

 

There's a flurry of excitement in Artemis's belly as she watches the queen draw herself up to her full height before beginning to pull at her clothing, and she shifts forwards to watch. Beside her, Cullen strips, then shifts, sliding onto the bed behind her, parting his legs and pulling her between them, her back resting against his chest.

 

He's beautifully warm, the stretch of his body smooth against her back and sighs as he grasps her thighs, draping them over each of his own so she's spread wide as she watches Elizabeth shimmy free of her gown. His hands, still oiled, stroke gently at her thighs before returning to her chest, resuming their earlier activity, and she groans lowly as her hardened nipples are squeezed between rough fingers, his motions pausing occasionally to press a thumb again her peaks. She squirms each time he does, feeling an accompanying throb in her loins, warmth roiling through her stomach, and she curls her toes and arches her back, pushing her breasts further into his warm palms.

 

The bed dips under added weight a moment later as Lis climbs onto it, her eyes alight with passion, though she advances cautiously, slinking towards her and Cullen. There's an almost unsettling grace to the woman as she moves, lean muscles shifting and flowing beneath pale skin, and she watches the roll of Artemis’s hips and shoulders, halting between spread thighs. There's a moment of indecision on the queen's face before she leans in, pressing her lips gently to her own, lithe, long frame brushing against hers.

 

When Artemis returns the tentative kiss, the woman above her relaxes, easing against her fully, and her soft moan speaks of just how much the redhead enjoys the press of their flesh. Hands find her hips, clutching at curves as the woman's tongue traces her lips with delicate strokes, pressing her tongue against her own when Artemis parts her lips to her. She tastes of peppermint, combined with something bitter, and she wonders if the woman had paused with Alistair for a cup of peppermint tea in her own quarters before visiting.

 

Behind her, Cullen grunts, his hands trapped between their bodies, and she smiles against her new lover's lips at the prod of his shaft in the small of her back. Above her, Lis rolls her hips, and Artemis finds herself groaning lowly, becoming aware of the arousal seeping from her core, as she’s trapped between the two warm bodies. It trickles between her cheeks, slicking everything in its path, and as if sensing it, Cullen's left hand retreats from her breast, skimming down along her ribs and waist before insinuating itself between her thighs. He avoids her bud completely, opting to delve two fingers into her without warning and she bucks at the pleasant intrusion, breath catching.

 

Intrigue playing over fine features, Lis pulls back, a sleek eyebrow lifted as she catches sight of Cullen's arm, and she shifts, peeling her belly away from Artemis's, allowing him room to work as her eyes lock onto his hand. Her lips part, tongue flicking out to wet them before she seems to remember herself, eyes returning to Artemis's. A warm smile, and the queen presses a soft, sweet kiss to her lips again before easing downwards.

 

She moves slowly, and Artemis watches, breath catching as Cullen's fingers press against sensitive spots. And yet it's the other woman who holds her attention, her back arching as lips brush over her shoulder, hot puffs of air accompanied by playful scrapes of sharp teeth against soft flesh. Long fingered hands play over her skin before carefully, almost reverentially, cupping at her bosom.

 

It's odd to feel the woman's fingers, slender and far smoother than Cullen's or Alistair's, plucking at her nipple, but even more so to watch painted lips close around her peak, and she shudders and arches, letting out a soft cry of encouragement. Lis’s lips tighten in response, suckling harder and Artemis stifles a whimper in Cullen's neck as her hips roll in time with his hand. She's already so close, his earlier activities readying her for the attention extra hands and lips afford, and a moment later, she surprises even herself when she clenches around his fingers. She tumbles over her edge, barely aware it was even there, her climax almost gentle as she ruts against Cullen's hand, pressing herself into Elizabeth's mouth.

 

Arousal seeps down the cleft of her backside when he withdraws her fingers, and she blinks at the sensation, still lost in the aftermath of her climax. It takes a moment to catch her breath, to refocus her gaze and when she does, she finds Elizabeth looking extraordinarily pleased as Cullen chuckles quietly.

 

'That was... unexpected,' the queen comments, her voice a low hum as her gaze continues to rove over her, and Artemis flushes, part embarrassed, part flattered by the attention. 'Still, I think we can do better than that.'

 

'Better?' Artemis asks, confusion pulling her out of her gentle aftermath.

 

'Well, yes.' Lis smiles. 'As wonderful as that was to see, I was rather hoping to make you scream.'

 

Her core pulses, somehow interested in the idea despite the orgasm she's just experienced, and she sits up abruptly, grasping the other woman's face and pulling her in hard for a kiss. Behind her, Cullen wriggles, his cock rigid against her back, and she wonders if it’s possible to feel someone's gaze on you.

 

Turning, breaking the kiss, she finds his attention rapt upon them and she smiles, pleased, smug that they're able to draw such a response from him.

 

'I think... I like that idea.' She grins to the woman sat between her thighs, making to kiss her again when her partner interrupts.

 

His hand tangles in her hair, tugging her away from the queen and then his mouth is devouring hers, hands finding her chest again, pinching hard and making her writhe. It only last for a few seconds before his attention turns to Lis, and he repeats the action, dragging her towards him with fingers on her scalp, crushing their mouths together though his hands linger on Artemis's chest.

 

When they're both straining for breath, he breaks the kiss, and Artemis finds herself hauled into his lap fully, barely any warning given before he's prodding at her entrance, sliding into her with gratifying ease.

 

She stretches around him, feeling his thickness rubbing hard against her walls, her body clutching at his, and despite her recent orgasm, nerves fire, pressure building again, a desire to be rutted against, plunged into, seizing her.

 

And yet there's nothing she can do to make that happen, draped as she is over Cullen's frame, her legs wide and hands clutched in his own. Frustration nips at her, prompting her to rock her hips downwards, trying to encourage him deeper, or to move or...something. Anything other than just letting her sit, impaled on him and spread open, with Elizabeth's sharp gaze trailing over her.

 

Dark blue eyes catch hers and in a flash the woman returns to lavishing attention on her, kissing down through the valley of her breasts, pausing at her abdomen to nip around her navel, leaving a ring of imprints around it before she continues ever downwards. She's never done this before, Artemis knows, and she can only guess that the slight pause is a moment of hesitation. But then there's a soft puff of warm air against her lower lips, thumbs pressing skin apart, and the tiniest, most tentative flick of a wet tongue against her folds.

 

It's hard not to jerk against that, the tip of Elizabeth's tongue pointed and firm, delivering an almost unpleasantly sharp sensation. Yet she holds herself still as best she can, rewarded a moment later when the other woman's tongue returns, softer now, the flat of it laving at her, covering her. Nestled between her legs, the queen takes her times, exploring with her tongue, tracing folds, stroking over her clit before dipping against her entrance, drawing a grunt from Cullen as the base of his shaft is brushed against.

 

Hips shuffle restlessly, Cullen's patience wearing thin, and as if taking a cue, Elizabeth pulls away, just as he gives a sharp, hard thrust that feels like it reaches every part of her body. Sensation races through her to every extremity, fingertips tingling, and she grips at the sheets either side of her, toes curling against the mattress. Above her, Elizabeth smiles, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand in a most unladylike manner, the shimmer of juices on her lips disappearing with the gesture.

 

There's something in that motion, something decidedly...naughty, something that sends lust coiling through her, sending another pulse of arousal through her, and she catches dark blue eyes, imploring the other woman. She responds in a heartbeat, sinking forwards, sandwiching Artemis between the woman's lithe frame and Cullen's bulk, hemmed in by warm, pale skin, scars and muscles. Her breasts are small but firm as they press against Artemis's own, her nipples hard points that add a delicious contrast as they drag against hers, her firm abdomen against the soft curve of her own.

 

She's not sure how Lis manages to slot their bodies together so perfectly over Cullen's, a long leg locking around them, a hand winding into her hair, cupping the back of her skull, the other sliding somewhere that she can only assume is touching Cullen, anchoring the three of them together.

 

Tender lips press to hers, warm, smooth, the slightest taste of vanilla in her lipstick as they kiss, and Artemis finds herself pressing back, head tilting, tongue stroking against the other woman's, ignoring the salt of herself on her slick tongue. There's a soft hum, miniscule vibrations in Elizabeth's throat that tickle her lips and Artemis coaxes her own hands from the sheets, to the long plain of the redhead's back, fingertips finding the bumps and dips of her spine as she tries to touch as much of the woman's flesh as possible.

 

In a surge of want, she pulls her mouth away from the warden's, finding the sharp corner of her jaw instead, the length of her neck, fingers moving to tangle in the sleek waves of copper that tumble across a pale back. Nails scratch lightly against her arms as she does, Elizabeth's spine arching, firm belly pressing further into her own, as if she could merge into her.

 

Behind her, Cullen thrusts.

 

It knocks their carefully constructed position out of place just so, Elizabeth's hips sliding a fraction lower, nudging together and Artemis squeaks at the new found position as a bolt of pleasure sings through her. It takes a second for her to realise what's happened as the other woman rolls her hips experimentally, emulating the action to her delight, backs arching in unison as both bundles, hard and slick, meet and bump, sliding together.

 

A moment later and they lose any sense of control, desperate to repeat, to ride the sensations, their mingling arousal slicking the way, so that every roll of their hips is a smooth slide. When Cullen begins to thrust in earnest, she relents, giving all control over to her lovers, letting them dictate everything, content to let them take their pleasure as they please, trusting that each stroke and press and thrust and roll will deliver her own.

 

And they do, each rock of her partner's bodies pushing her own along, building her up again, suffusing through her limbs, her skin, until she's saturated in heat and pressure, the sweat and scent and sound of them together.

 

It's no surprise to her that she crests first, her body overwhelmed, and she comes silently, feeling every muscle clench, her skin prickling, tingling as the heat of Elizabeth's soaked folds slide against hers. It leaves her boneless between her and Cullen, listening with sharp clarity to their own noises, Cullen's grunts and Elizabeth's pants as they draw closer to their own ends, Cullen's torso suddenly turning rigid behind her, his hands gripping at her and Elizabeth as he tumbles over the edge.

 

The moment she feels him release her, she surges forward, a burst of energy invigorating her, compelling her, and she pushes Elizabeth down, against the bed, pinning her. Her hands move of their own accord, seizing on a modest breast, pinching hard before she covers it with her mouth, feeling Lis's hard nipple heavy against her tongue, sucking at the woman until she's keening.

 

Pulling her mouth free she stares down at the reddened nipple, up to Elizabeth's swollen lips, her lip paint ever so slightly smeared, ruining her perfect mask, and somehow it feels like peeling back another layer of the woman, to see her unkempt before her, sweat on her brow, her sleek waves spread across the bed, tangled in her fingers. She wants to ruin that facade completely, she wants to do it herself, to be the one to make the queen come undone.

 

With a hand firmly on the woman's narrower hips she presses her down again, her mouth moving to the other breast as she continues to knead the former, feeling her shift, slim thighs shuffling, parting. She knows exactly what she wants, knows the need to be filled, to be stretched, that claims her, and Artemis is determined to give her that.

 

The hand on 'Lis's delicately curved hip shifts, fingers ghosting against her seam, collecting a generous amount of her fluid as she slides down, before finding her target. Her fingers slide, clutched instantly by Elizabeth's walls. There's a rhythm to her inner motions, a constant pull and release, her quim working to drag her deeper, and when her thumb presses against her seam, down to the hidden clit beneath, they seize for a moment, gripping with a force she didn't know possible.

 

Beneath her mouth, the queen's chest heaves, slender fingers finding her back, nails scratching, and she almost hisses at the pain that invokes. And yet it's satisfying to see her so, eyes screwed shut, lips parted as she pulses and rocks under her hands, and Artemis feels a mix of pride and smugness well in her at bringing the woman this close. But it's not quite enough, not yet, and she draws her hand out for a moment, sucking on a third finger and pressing back in with the other two.

 

She draws back to watch that, the stretch of her around her fingers, pink and pulsing, her thumb rubbing circles around the hard pink nub, watching flesh ripple with each pass of the digit, hips bowing up, encouraging her deeper. Not that she can, already in up to her knuckles, and she fears hurting her if she were to add another. Instead, she curls her drenched fingers, pressing hard against that spot that she knows is hidden inside, pleased when Elizabeth arches from the bed, a strangled cry on her lips.

 

Confidence soaring, she repeats the motion, pressing down onto her bud with her thumb, fingers pinching a hard nipple as she sucks as hard as she can on the other, putting everything into the delivery.

 

The queen squeals, high and desperate, twisting as she releases a rush of fluid that coats Artemis's palm, seizing a final glorious time before hips crash back down onto the bed, a heavy exhale on Elizabeth's lips.

 

Pride soars through Artemis's chest, and she feels herself grinning before she's aware she's doing so, watching as the woman's breast rises and falls with heavy breaths. Behind her, Cullen meets her eyes and she grins back at him, pleased, before he shifts forwards, a kiss pressed to his queen's cheek. It's an odd thing to see, but she supposes he's become fond of her in the past few weeks, enough to feel something other than just respectful admiration or lust. There's a similarity to them, and yet she can't bring herself to feel any jealousy at his display of affection.

 

Of course, he won't leave his own lover out and he rises from the bed to take Artemis in his arms, a gentle kiss pressed to her lips, her forehead, before he pulls away to return to the small tea table, going through the motions of making tea once more.

 

She's pleased that he decided not to continue after he'd reached his climax, allowing her to experience with Lis on her own, and she can be nothing but grateful for his understanding. Warmth blooms in her chest as she watches him, titillated by the sight of his bare backside, her commander apparently feeling no need to dress for now. A soft titter and she looks back to Lis, who seems to have recovered almost in full, her attention on the same view. They share a knowing look, and she feels like a young girl once again, giggling with friends at dashing soldiers and noble sons, and even the odd templar back at Ostwick's circle.

 

Cullen, to his credit, isn't unaware of the effect he's having on them, and he casts them both a glance over his shoulder, an amused smile quirking his lips. If he's bothered by the ogling, he makes no sign of it. In fact, he seems rather pleased by it. Enough to give a playful wiggle of his backside that prompts a peal of laughter from the two of them. A hand rubs at the back of his neck a moment later and returns to its task of making tea.

 

With a gentle huff, she turns her attention to the last occupant of their room. She can't help but laugh at Alistair's expression. His mouth hangs open still, eyes wide as if he'd never seen his wife be brought to orgasm by another woman before and oh...yes. Because he hadn't.

 

He seems to remember himself after a moment with her gaze on him, enough to at least close his mouth, his familiar grin replacing it.

 

'Well, you two look like you enjoyed yourselves.'

 

'Feeling left out, my king?' Elizabeth teases, rising from the bed and stretching, her back arching at an angle that makes Artemis's eyes water.

 

'You know, part of me thinks I should. And then the part of me that just watched the two most ravishing women in the world make love to each other kicks it in the face and tells it to shut up.'

 

She chuckles as Lis smiles lightly, rolling her eyes before strolling over to him, as comfortable in her skin as Cullen, apparently, and even as she walks away Artemis finds herself admiring the long, lean lines of the woman's body.

 

Alistair watches as his wife approaches, all soft smiles and bright eyes, utterly enraptured as his queen slinks into his lap, and Artemis hopes, privately, that Cullen and herself look at each other as they do in ten years time.

 

She pulls her gaze away. For all they've shared together in the past few weeks, there's something too intimate about watching Elizabeth curl up in Alistair's lap, his arms locked around her as he gazes at her with unfettered affection. Ironically, it feels like intruding and she stands, pulling a sheet from the bed and wrapping it about herself before making her way to Cullen's side. He offers her a glance and a smile as she stands beside him, his hands busy with silver spoons and china cups.

 

'Are you well, my love?' he asks when she remains silent, and she bites her lip in thought before lifting her eyes to meet his golden gaze. His motions slow as she presses close to him, and he reaches to her, an arm wrapping about her, pulling her against his nude body as he continues to make tea, one handed now. Ever the pragmatist.

 

'I'm fine.' She smiles, casting a glance at their guests who are snuggled into the armchair together. ' Do you...?' She halts, wondering if the question will sound as needy as it feels.

 

'Do I...?' he prompts, his voice equally quiet.

 

'Do you think we'll be like that in ten years?' She gestures over to the couple, disguising the gesture as she pulls out fresh cups to use. She wonders if he'll balk at the question. They'd been together for over a year now, but it seemed no time at all in comparison to Elizabeth and Alistair, and they all knew that relationships that had lasted far longer than hers and Cullen's could break down.

 

And yet Cullen shakes his head and smiles as he glances over to them, then meets her gaze again, his face softening when he realises she's serious.

 

'Of course. Unless you wish it otherwise, I would spend every day from now until our last making you the happiest I ever could.'

 

Warmth swells in her chest at the words, a bright smile sweeping across her face and she beams up at him, earning a chuckle as he leans in for a kiss, his arms coiling about her fully.

 

'Aww, would you look at that sweet young couple?' Alistair, it seems however, has no qualms about being privy to another couple's tender moments. 'Almost brings a tear to an old man's eye.'

 

Cullen tuts, eyes rolling, turning to glare at his king as Elizabeth swats her husband's arm.

 

'Almost?' she teases. 'As I recall, the last time you wept it was because the dog winked at you.'

 

'I...' He flushes an indignant shade of red. 'It was cute. Besides, King of the 'dog lords' and all that. It was a perfectly normal response.'

 

'Normal for you, yes.' The queen smiles, before burrowing back into his arms.

 

'Hey!' He protests, but it's a lacklustre performance and he simply holds his wife tight to him, his cheeks still red and he casts an apologetic smile at Artemis.

 

There's no need for it, really, unconcerned as she is about him seeing their affection. She would have been embarrassed if he'd overheard their conversation but this...she feels no shame for displaying her love for Cullen to anyone, him and Elizabeth least of all.

 

With cups of tea all made, she turns back to help Cullen, piling them onto a tray and carrying them over to the sofas and armchair, setting the drinks down on the small table in the middle. It's as she reaches for the cream that she hears it; a knock on the door, and she freezes, blood running cold at the voice that follows.

 

'Inquisitor? I was wondering if you had a moment to discuss the farewell ball?'

 

Josie. She'd completely forgotten that she'd invited the ambassador for afternoon tea and her mind darts from excuse to excuse as she tries desperately to think of a way out of the situation. She'd given Josie leave to enter her room without waiting for a response, and if she left it much longer, the woman might just take her up on it.

 

'Inquisitor?' There's another rap on the door. 'Are you free? You did invite me to tea?'

 

Before she can think of a response, Alistair is on his feet, Elizabeth beside him.

 

'Get dressed,' he hisses to them all, 'I'll try to stall her.'

 

They surge into a flurry of activity as Alistair ambles towards the stairs, calling to Josephine as he does;

 

'My my Lady Josephine, this sounds intriguing.' His voice fades slightly as he descends towards the door and Artemis throws herself back towards the bed, pulling on her skirt and corset as quickly as she can. It's a struggle with the laces, and she's grateful when Cullen and Elizabeth appear at her side, helping her into the undergarment as she kicks her knickers beneath the bed.

 

Once strapped in, she tugs on her blouse as Cullen makes the bed and Elizabeth pins her hair into place as best as she can. They're all panting by the time they're presentable, and she tries to calm her breathing as she repositions herself back on the sofa, next to Cullen. Elizabeth takes her place on the opposite sofa, tea in hand again as she smooths her gown a final time.

 

'Do you think we'll pass?' She asks quietly and Lis smiles.

 

'We shall see. Are we ready?'

 

She nods, as does Cullen, and as Elizabeth clears her throat to call to her husband, she hopes that that Cullen's flush will disappear soon.

 

'Alistair, dear, I'm sure Lady Josephine didn't come here to discuss this morning's breakfast, delightful as it was.'

 

From the stairwell the murmur of Alistair's voice halts and he gives an audible sigh. A moment later he reappears at the top of the stairs, Josie in tow.

 

'It was a wonderful meal though.' He grins at Lis, before throwing a wink to the ambassador.

 

'Our cook will be delighted to hear your praise, King Alistair. I will see to it that your comments are passed on.'

 

'Perhaps just a select few,' Cullen advises, a knowing smirk cast to his king. 'We'll all surely starve if every one of His Majesty's comments are passed on.'

 

Alistair grins, good natured despite the teasing, sinking down next to Elizabeth.

 

'You know, I feel like I'm being mocked somehow. Not sure why. Call me paranoid.'

 

There's a polite laugh from Josie as she stands beside the empty armchair and Artemis suppresses a grin. The ambassador had never been quite sure how to deal with the King of Ferelden, unorthodox as he was in his nature. Bard, she may have been, but no one had ever trained her on how to deal with a lowly bastard turned warden turned King. Artemis had, on a number of occasions, encouraged her to simply be open with him; honesty was often the best policy with Alistair, his disdain for anything else something he didn't care to mask.

 

It's apparent she's not sure whether or not Alistair is concerned by Cullen's teasing, and her eyes dart for a moment, landing on each of them individually before she speaks;

 

'I hope I haven't interrupted anything, my lords and ladies.'

 

'Not at all, Josie. We were about to discuss the ball anyway.'

 

'You...were?'

 

'Our time here's been most pleasant, ambassador,' Lis comments, sipping at her tea, 'it would seem fitting to end it with a celebration. I think it's an excellent idea.'

 

'I'm glad you agree, your Majesty.' In a breath the tensions shifts from Josephine's shoulders. 'I was concerned it would not be to your tastes.'

 

'Food and drink for the menfolk and dancing for the ladies, and I'm sure we'll all be satisfied. I appreciate Ferelden does not have a reputation for such festivities, but even we occasionally remember to enjoy ourselves.'

 

'Indeed, your Majesty. Though I wondered if you would have any requests?'

 

The queen grins.

 

'I have a new gown I've been itching to wear, but other than that, I'm certain I've been catered for.'

 

Alistair heaves a melodramatic sigh.

 

'You ladies and your new gowns.'

 

'And what of our new gowns, King Alistair?' Artemis asks, feeling playful and she giggles at his feigned discomfort. From the corner of her eye, she can't help but notice the way her ambassador's eyes are drawing lines between the two of them.

 

'At any rate,' Lis interjects, 'I'm sure it will be wonderful, Lady Montilyet. I believe you mentioned that some old friends of the Inquisition will be attending? I'm most intrigued to meet them all.'

 

'Ah yes,' Josie's eyes light up, 'the 'Inner circle. I've invited everyone, though Most Holy will not be able to join us.'

 

'Yes, I gather she's somewhat busy these days.'

 

'Can't think why,' Alistair murmurs, an easy smile on his lips. 'I mean, you'd think she was responsible for an entire religion or something.'

 

Elizabeth's eyes roll, though there's a fondness to the gesture, and she takes Alistair's hand as she chats to Josephine, their conversation returning to details of the ball.

 

Whatever the ball would hold, Artemis was eager to attend, to see her friends all reunited in one place again. It would have a certain bittersweet aspect though, she mused, for as much as it would be good to see everyone again, it was also the last night that Alistair and Elizabeth would be staying at Skyhold. They were scheduled to depart the following morning, to return to their duties in Ferelden having been away for over a month, and she wondered when they would get the chance to see them again. Surely they would make some excuse, but there was a sense of sadness that she'd not anticipated, sitting heavy in her chest at the thought.

 

All the more reason to make their last few days together memorable then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> This is the....penultimate chapter, I think?? One more to go after this and then an epilogue. And since it's unlikely I'll update before the end of the year, I wish all you lovely people a Happy Holiday season and a Happy New Year :)
> 
> As always, I'm [here](http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if anyone wants to say hello.


	21. The Meet and Greet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The companions come to tea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this took slightly longer than the couple of weeks I was intending to have it done in, but hopefully it will be worth it for you. 
> 
> On another note, thanks again for everyone who has kudos'd and commented. The count is now over 300, which is amazing, so thank you all so much for your support.
> 
> I should also point out that there isn't any smut in this chapter, as I've saved it all up for the last, but hopefully this one will keep you all entertained anyway.
> 
> Anyhoo...
> 
> Onto the chapter...
> 
> Enjoy!

Elizabeth wakes to Alistair's snoring.

She had come to terms, not long after successfully inviting him into her tent all those years ago, with the fact that her lover was both a heavy and particularly loud sleeper. At the time, it hadn't bothered her, too exhausted by the day's events to do anything other than collapse into her bedroll. Nowadays it proves to be more of an issue, and she sits up, blinking, eying her slumbering husband, wondering whether to attempt to get him to stop snoring, or just get up.

It's likely she won't be able to sleep anyway, and so she chooses the latter, pressing a kiss to his forehead and sliding out of bed. Barkspawn awakes at the pad of her feet over the stone floor, and she hushes him before he has a chance to bark, squinting out through a frost covered window. Dusky pink light seeps through, telling of the dawn just breaking, and a flurry of frivolity grabs her.

Turning to the wardrobe, she throws off her nightdress, grabbing a heavy woolen tunic and tugging it on, wrapping her hair up in a loose bun before stuffing her feet into a pair of riding boots that had seen better days. In all honesty, she should have disposed of them months again, but they were so comfortable she couldn't bring herself to do so.

With Barkspawn prancing with impatience at her side, she takes a final look at her husband and slips out into the thin morning air. Their guards, much to her displeasure, are nodding at their posts, and she tuts, her steps becoming bolder as she passes them. She shall have to reprimand them later. Still, for now it's helpful, and she walks on, sending her hound back to wake them only once she's out of their view. He returns to her a few minutes later, and she pats his wide shoulders as he bounds beside her.

Breath steams before her as she finds her way along the battlements, easing past the soldiers finishing their night shifts, until she reaches Cullen's tower. She leaves Barkspawn there, beside the desk as she climbs the ladder, amused by the still unmade bed. Clambering up the rough stone walls to the gap in the roof, she parts the tree’s branches, inching out until she can lean against the tree's trunk.

The air feels clearer, despite the fact that she’s climbed only a very small distance, so she pauses, taking a breath that bites her nose. It should be a discomfort, but she finds she relishes this compared to the stuffiness of the castle's rooms. She sits, breathing against her palms to keep the cold at bay, watching as the sun inches higher through layers of cloud, the sky turning a brilliant red. Below, the sounds of the castle's staff awakening begin to echo, loud clunks and creaks that announce the lowering of the drawbridge and the rising of the portcullis, a steady rattle of heavy chains that surely wakes the rest of the castle.

The queen turns her gaze away from the peaks of the mountains around her, watching as guards swap shifts.

It feels odd that they should open the drawbridge this early, and she squints at it until she notices them; a group of people walking casually towards the gate. They're not soldiers of the Inquisition, nor do they look like nobles. Well...not all of them anyway. Certainly not the colossal Qunari in their midst, bigger even than Sten had been, and she wonders if this is the reputed The Iron Bull that she'd heard of. There's a considerably smaller man at his side, human, she guesses, with dark skin and hair, dressed in white, and a dwarf beside him, the three of them laughing, chatting, an easy familiarity between them. This, she realises, must be the 'Inner circle' that Josephine had spoken of. There was no one else it could be, not with such an odd mixture of people. Indeed, there are more gathering to the three, including a man dressed in Grey Warden armour. That piques her interest, and she leans forwards, peering at him from between the branches, hiding within the reddening leaves.

Artemis had not mentioned they'd had a warden in their midst, not that they had discussed her companions much at all. Like herself, the subject of friends who had since left her company seemed to be a sore one, and she'd not pressed, knowing all too well the emptiness that could come with such thoughts.

'How interesting,' she murmurs, leaning forwards against a branch, feeling it creak.

'What's interesting?'

The voice sends a shock through her spine and she jerks, spinning to face a young man she doesn't recognise. The branch below her feet boughs with a sudden creak, an unflattering shriek escaping her as her feet slip out into the air. It's only her grip on the branch above that stops her from falling. Heart pounding, she flails, kicking, at thin air, dangling.

'Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!' Warm hands grip at her waist, pulling with surprising strength until her feet find new purchase, and once she’s righted herself, she scrambles back down from the tree and into the office, coming face to face with the young man.

He's a skinny thing, all arms and legs, floppy blonde hair partly hidden by a ridiculous hat. A pair of soft blue eyes peer at her, confused, concerned.

'Hello,' he greets, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about what has just happened.

She takes a breath, steadying herself.

'Hello.'

'What were you doing in the tree?'

Heart beginning to slow in its frantic pace, Elizabeth tucks the strands of hair that had come loose back behind her ears, trying to regain composure.

'Oh...I was...looking at the bridge.' She's never been this flustered in front of someone before, even if the young man didn't seem bothered by her behaviour, only curious.

'You were watching my and the Inquisitor's friends.'

The comment lets her know, without a doubt, that both this boy and the party on the bridge were Artemis's travelling companions, but she plays along nevertheless;

'Is that who they are?'

'Yes.'

'I see. And... who might you be?'

'Me? I'm Cole.' The lad pauses, looking around the room for a moment before turning back to her. 'This is Commander Cullen's bedchamber. So many memories...where he fell for her, so beautiful, so calm, like the dark of night, so comforting. Does he know you're here?'

'Yes, I'm aware and, no. I came here to be alone.' Elizabeth speaks slowly. The young man seems harmless enough, but the outburst was...odd, to say the least.

'Oh, yes. It's quiet in the morning, before anyone wakes up. I like the quiet too.'

'Indeed,' she smiles, as crashes echo down in the courtyard, voices raising as the soldiers assemble to run through drills, '...though it would seem that it's over now.'

'Yes, the soldiers are very noisy.' He nods, pale eyes widening as he looks at her. 'You didn't tell me your name, but I told you mine.'

'Ah, yes, my apologies Cole. I am Elizabeth, of Ferelden.'

'Hello Elizabeth of Ferelden.'

'Hello, Cole.' She smiles at this odd boy with his wide blue eyes, the smattering of acne across white skin. 'I assume you're here for the ball this evening?'

'Yes. In the hall.' Pale eyes flick back to hers, piercing in their intensity, and she has to resist the urge to squirm under his gaze. She doesn't like it, the way this unassuming young man makes her feel like her every deed has been laid bare before him, as if he's searching through her, and she clears her throat, ready to make her excuses to leave when he speaks again.

'Will you miss it here? Will you miss them?'

'Excuse me?'

'The Inquisitor and Commander Cullen.'

'I am...not sure I follow you, Cole.'

She eyes him, tension knotting in her belly, hands twitching.

'You came here to meet them, didn't you? And now you're friends. More than you thought you would be and... it's nice, isn't it? Having friends.'

Elizabeth halts, mind racing, unsure whether Cole is really as harmless as he seems now. Did he know? There's no way he could but...something in the question seems less than straightforward. And his name, Cole, rang a bell, like Artemis had mentioned him before, but Elizabeth can’t recall the details of the conversation. He was definitely here, and whole, but it was as though anything to do with him that wasn't in front of her now was fuzzy around the edges.

Feeling her hackles rise, she nods, giving as friendly a smile as she can muster. Best to play along, at least, and she straightens her spine.

'Yes, it's good to have found some new friends.' And that, at least, isn't a lie, and answers the question, no matter what intentions are behind it. 'Now I have to apologise, Cole, but the sun is rising and I must get back to my husband. We have something of a busy day ahead.'

The boy blinks, though he seems unphased by her sudden announcement, and he wishes her a good day as she departs.

Sliding down the ladder, she makes her way back towards her chambers, Barkspawn joining her once more. All around her, the castle springs to life, guards making their rounds as the soldiers run through drills, servants bustling back and forth. She heeds none of it, winding through corridors, ignoring the glances she receives from those who recognise her.

She should have been back sooner, she curses herself, to avoid putting herself and Alistair in a potentially compromising situation.

As she rounds the corner she finds the guards standing to attention, and Alistair among them, chatting to his aide. He looks up at the pad of her footsteps, familiar grin breaking onto his face.

'Good morning, my love. Taking in the dawn air, I see.'

The ease of his smile soothes her, nerves calming, and when she smiles at him, it feels at least partially real. Though it wasn't a regular occurrence, Alistair had become used to her disappearing in the early hours of the morning. It was one of the reasons that, though she had considered slipping away into the night when beginning her quest for the cure, she hadn't been able to go through with it. She'd known that if she had done so, he likely never would've trusted her to sleep beside him again, for fear of waking to a permanently empty bed.

But he knows her smile, she can see from the way his eyes flick over her face, that something's not right, and he cocks his head to the door.

'I suppose you'd like a moment to dress before we attend breakfast?'

'Yes. As much as it would be interesting to see how people react to this,' she gestures to the dull tunic, 'I suspect something more covering is in order.'

Grinning, he nods, easing the door open, and she eases past him, into the room. There's a faint scent on the air, a bath that's been drawn ready for her, and she turns to look at him over her shoulder as he shuts the door.

'I thought you might like to bathe once you got back from your walk.'

She doesn't need to be told twice, twisting out of the woolen tunic and hurrying to the waiting water. It's exquisite as she steps in, the heat of it chasing the chill from her legs, and she settles back against the tub.

'So, you slipped out early this morning,' her king comments, fingers working at the pins holding her hair in place until it falls free.

'I couldn't sleep anymore and I didn't want to disturb you. So I thought, as you said, I would take some air.'

'Find anything interesting?'

'I believe I saw some of Artemis's companions entering the castle. I may have met one of them too.'

'Oh?'

'A young man. I think he said his name was Cole?'

'Ah. It sounds familiar.'

'There's something unsettling about him though.'

The fingers stroking through her hair stop, and she senses, more than sees, Alistair's head cocking.

'How so?'

His fingers resume their gentle tease through her hair.

'He caught me off guard, for a start. That's not happened in a while...but perhaps I'm just losing my edge...'

'As much as I'd love to tell you that will ever be the stealthiest stealther who ever stealthed... it is possible. But there is something else, isn't there?'

'He just... I cannot put my finger on it, but there was just something about him that made me uneasy. He did nothing to me, just appeared and spoke to me but...it's as though he knows something about the four of us.'

'He hasn't been here though. Artemis said when we arrived that none of her companions were present and wouldn't be until much later.'

'Yes...I recall.' She shakes her head, splashing water against her face, and stands, agitated now. 'Perhaps I'm simply paranoid.'

The look Alistair gives her says he disagrees, but she can sense that he wants to lay the issue to rest, to not have to worry about it. Logically, there’s no way that the lad could have known anything.

'We could ask Artemis about it.'

'If we get a moment alone, yes.'

'I'm sure we will, even if it's only tonight.' He grins again, and she can't help but smile when he does, recognising the light in his eyes.

'Yes, you are right, of course. We'll speak with her tonight.'

Squaring her shoulders, Elizabeth pushes the thought to the back of her mind, opting instead to focus on Alistair as he approaches her with a fluffy towel, wrapping it around her and hoisting her from the tub. The heat from his body seeps through the fabric, warming her further, and when he sets her down on the bed it's difficult not to tug him back to her.

'Now, my love,' he chides as she reaches for him, her fingers closing on empty air as he scoots backwards, 'I'm sure there will be plenty of time for that later. Breakfast is calling, after all.'

At the mention of breakfast her stomach rolls and rumbles, and Alistair sniggers at the noise as she towels herself dry. Her handmaiden appears in the doorway a moment later, armed with her attire for the day, and within a few minutes she's dressed and out of the door again.

The hall is just a short walk from their chambers, for the ease of passage, and they arrive to find themselves early. So early, in fact, that Artemis and Cullen are not yet present, and Elizabeth feels somewhat awkward as she sits in her assigned seat. The servants attend instantly, of course, cups of hot tea poured for her and Alistair, but even they seem somewhat bemused by the lack of their hosts.

Eventually, after the third cup of tea has been drank, and breakfast politely, if grudgingly, declined, the couple appears from the doorway on the far side of the hall. They hurry to them, Artemis smiling apologetically as she takes her seat. The Orlesians present in the room titter, assuming their tardiness to be meant as an affront to Ferelden's royalty.

'Alistair, Elizabeth, I'm so sorry we're late,' Artemis murmurs, smoothing down her dress as she sits. Over the top of her head, Cullen nods and smiles. 'Our friends arrived just a short time ago, and I thought it best to greet them.'

'Not at all, Artemis.' Alistair waives the apology away, and Elizabeth smiles along with him. In truth, she feels somewhat irked, more at the fact that it’s given the Orlesians an opportunity to titter, than the actual tardiness. She smooths over it by sipping at her tea.

Beneath the cover of the table, fingers find her thigh, skimming up its length, and she swallows slowly, eyes flicking to meet Artemis's. The blonde smiles at her, a mixture of sheepishness, guilt and mischief. It promises apologies in full when they're alone, and she nods again, her smile more genuine as servants approach to fill their plates.

'Will your companions not be joining us for breakfast then, Artemis?' she asks, once she's managed to get a few bites of food in her stomach. She hadn't realised just how famished she was.

'No, they were all quite tired from the journey. They'll eat and rest in private and then join us later this evening for the ball.'

'Ah, I see. We look forward to meeting them all.'

Beside her, Alistair muffles out an agreement through bites of food. She wonders if they'll ever have the opportunity to do the same – to see all her former travelling companions together under one roof. It seems increasingly unlikely.

There's little time to dwell on it now though, and even less point to do so, and she focuses instead on engaging in polite conversation with their hosts for the benefit of the crowd. It's becoming tiring to do so, in truth, wanting to do nothing more than spend the time they have left together secreted away, to be able to behave however they wish to. A pity that it was only ever going to be a fantasy.

As breakfast is served and eaten, Elizabeth notes how the atmosphere in the room changes. It seems that today, there's a buzz in the air, excitement for the evening ahead, at the promise of an evening of festivities, enlivened by the arrival of the Inquisition's most honoured guests, its former members.

It's almost too much, too great a promise and too strong an ache to think that this evening is something she'll never have with her own odd flock of friends, and when it seems appropriate, she makes her excuses. Alistair looks up at her, concerned, his eyes dark with worry.

'Something wrong, Elizabeth?'

'No, not at all,' she soothes, aware that his question has also gained Artemis and Cullen's attention. 'You know how early I was up this morning. I'm simply feeling more tired than I had expected. I'll go and rest for a while, and join you later. Artemis, Cullen, I'll see you at the ball?'

'Of course, Your Majesty.'

Her excuse made, she stands, easing back from the table and placing a kiss on Alistair's cheek as she does, before making a swift exit. As soon as the door to their chambers is closed she slumps into a chair, feeling over-warm and oddly drained. Perhaps, she reasons, her excuse had more truth to it than she thought, and she moves to the yet unmade bed, collapsing into its softness with a grateful sigh as she lets sleep overwhelm her.

–

'’Lis?'

The voice, warm, familiar, tinged with concern, rouses her from the depths of her sleep, a niggle that draws her up through layers of consciousness until she regains control of her body.

'’Lis? Wake up.'

There's a hand on her shoulder, just as warm, heavy, rocking her awake.

Elizabeth blinks, eyes opening, focusing, finding Alistair sat beside her, his gaze soft as he combs stray strands of hair from her face.

'Sorry, my love, I didn't want to wake you. Do you know how cute you are when you're sleeping? Ah, but, anyway, the ball's going to be starting in a couple of hours and I know how you like to take a bath before you get dressed.'

She sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, squinting out of the window.

'I slept all day?'

'Apparently you've been very tired lately, though I can't think why.' He taps at his chin as if in thought, grinning.

Smiling, she taps him on the arm in recompense, arching her back as she stretches, before padding barefoot into the bathing chamber. The bath waits for her again; steaming, scented with the oils that will soften her skin, and she steps in, taking her time to soak properly, as her handmaiden's head appears from around the corner.

'Do you need assistance, my lady?'

'Not for now, thank you, though I will need you to dress my hair when I've finished here. If you could ask my husband to come through?'

The woman nods, disappearing from the doorway, Alistair taking her place.

'You require assistance, my lady?' he asks, his voice dropping to make the question far more sultry than necessary.

'Could you...wash my hair for me?'

'Anything for my wife.' He smiles, pulling off the light cotton tunic and riding breeches that he's taken to relaxing in, and sliding into the tub, positioning himself behind her. As soon as he settles, she reclines against the solid wall of his chest, sighing as he finds a ewer of warm water and soaks her hair.

Firm fingertips press against her scalp, massaging, lathering soap into a decadent mass of bubbles, and Elizabeth lets her eyes fall closed, relishing the feeling of being cradled against him.

'Don't fall asleep again, love,' he murmurs, his hands ghosting over her breasts, her belly, before settling on parted thighs. 'We can't miss the beginning of this ball.'

Blinking, she sits up.

'True. Such a shame though. I could spend the rest of my life like this.'

He laughs, his body rocking.

'I'm sure you could spend a good amount of time like this, yes, but I know you. You'd need to hit something eventually.'

A smirk curves her lips.

'True enough.'

Grinning, he grabs the ewer again, refills it before washing the suds from her hair, smoothing the orange scented oil she adores through it until the snarls disappear. The weight of the oil makes her hair fall heavy, straight and smooth as it clings to her back, and he runs a palm over its glossy length, following its fall to her lower back.

'So shiny,' he murmurs again, and she laughs at the wonder in his voice, heart lightened by his boyishness.

'You've seen it like this before, Alistair.'

'Not for a long time. I was worried you would have to cut it when you came back.'

'So was I. I know how you like it long. Though I suppose one day it may be time for a change. I always liked how Leliana wore hers.'

Behind her Alistair makes a faint huff of disgust.

'Too short.'

'Well, maybe not that short but...maybe not as long. It is somewhat unmanageable.'

'You've managed with it for at least a decade.'

'Only because I missed it. It was short when we met, remember? I cut it after Duncan took me away from father's estate. It seemed so impractical at the time, to have it that long on the road.'

'I remember. It was all jaggedy because you sheared through it with a knife. I thought you were trying to make some odd fashion statement. I didn't realise it was just because you hadn't been near anyone who could fix it.'

She hums softly, remembering.

'It was like that for weeks. I can't believe I left it like that. It was only because Leliana knew how to cut it that I didn't look completely ridiculous after we left Lothering.'

'And now look at you. Never a hair out of place.'

'We can't afford for me to have a hair out of place these days.'

It's his turn to hum now, the note sad and soft as he presses a kiss between her shoulder blades, and she knows he's thinking of a different life; one without the pressures of a country and its people on their shoulders.

'Still...I don't know if I'd give it up, you know?' he murmurs, his cheek coming to rest on her back. 'For all it's hard work, I think we've done an acceptable job, haven't we?'

'I believe better than acceptable. The people will come around again, and I've always believed that Ferelden was better off in our hands than Anora's.'

Behind her he nods.

'True. But...enough of this. We have a ball to get ready for.'

'Indeed.' She pauses, worrying her lip, wondering if she should speak her mind, before deciding that she must. 'You're very keen...for once.'

She can almost sense the way he peers at her as he pours water over her shoulders, letting it trickle down her body before he lathers a bar of soap and sets to cleaning her skin.

'For the ball? I guess... I'm looking forward to making a night of it with Cullen and Artemis. It should be fun. And it'll be interesting to meet these friends of theirs.'

'It will. It will indeed.'

Silence falls as he washes her back, and chest, paying an undue amount of attention to each breast, as he always does, before turning to the plane of her belly. She has to discourage him with whispered promises of saving themselves for Cullen and Artemis, before she returns the favour, washing his back for him.

When they've bathed, they climb from the tub, towelling dry, and she twists her hair out of the way and pulls on the slip that makes up the first of her many layers of clothing. She only pauses to apply her favourite scent, dabbing it behind her ears, on her neck and wrists.

'Women always put that in the oddest places,' Alistair comments, as if he's never seen her do it before.

'Oh believe me, my innocent husband, these are the least oddest places to put it.'

He quirks an eyebrow at that, confusion written onto his features, and she winks.

'You wouldn't believe where the handmaidens tried to apply it on our wedding night.'

'You don't mean...?'

'Apparently rose-scented nipples and nethers are the norm for supposedly virgin queens-to-be.'

A laugh bursts from him, loud enough that she can practically hear the next room's occupants startle, and she grins back at him.

'You're not joking are you?' he manages to sputter out when his laughter has subsided a little.

'Not even remotely.'

After another minute or so his mirth fades and he shakes his head, still smirking.

'Attention to detail, huh?...I hope they didn't make you uncomfortable.'

She scoffs.

'I told them, in no uncertain terms, that if they attempted to put it anywhere other than where I instructed, that they would be having the entire bottle inserted into their nethers.'

His laughter returns, just as a knock sounds at the door, and she watches her husband all but shove a fist into his mouth in an attempt to stifle himself as the door opens. Her handmaiden's head pops in again, her eyes widening as she takes in her guffawing king, before she turns her attention to her queen.

'My lady, I mean not to intrude but the ball is only an hour away and your hair needs dressing.'

She smiles, knowing the girl would be getting antsy by now, and gestures for her to enter as she takes a seat at her dressing table. Within a few moments she sets to work on brushing out her hair as Alistair stumbles away to be dressed by his grooms.

'Has the king been telling his jokes again, ma'am? He seems in high spirits.'

Chuckling to herself, Elizabeth shakes her head.

'Of a sort. Now, let's see what we can do with this to make it a little different today, shall we?' she prompts, running her fingers through a few loose tresses.

'Something different, your Majesty?'

'The bun feels a little fatigued, however it's done. I should like to make an impact tonight...I have a feeling it will be one to remember.'

–

They leave their quarters as the sun begins to set, casting brilliant hues of gold into the sky, and Elizabeth can't help but let a tremor of anticipation run through her as they approach the main hall. Artemis had requested that they enter from outside, rather than using one of the side passages as would be usual, and despite having reservations at the time, they had agreed to go along with it.

As the heavy doors to the hall are pulled open by two of the Inquisition's soldiers, who are fitted in the most polished armour she'd seen outside of Orlais, she understands why.

In the fading light of the setting sun, the keep all but glimmers with a golden sheen, slanted rays that pour through the high windows tinted by coloured glass, wreathing the room in myriad colours. For the first time in a while, Elizabeth has to remind herself to keep her expression composed, no matter how impressed she is with the display. Beside her, Alistair barely bothers, his eyes bright and turned up to the ceiling, taking in the colours, his lopsided smile present once more. It would no doubt look as though even Ferelden's king was no more than the bumbling farmer that the Orlesian's assumed him to be, amazed by such a sight. And yet she doesn't care. Not when he seems so bright, so happy in this moment.

Around them, long benches have been laid out, tables piled with food for the guests that stand at their allotted seats, waiting for them to take their place at the high table. As the guests of honour, they would be seated first, along with the Inquisitor's most prominent members, and Elizabeth is content to take her time on the walk to the far end of the hall.

In all honesty, she has to. The gown she wears, one she had chosen to match the high formality of the function, was uncomfortable in its heaviness. Full in skirt, with all the appropriate layers of material beneath to keep its shape, her feet are only kept free by a hoop that encircles her ankles, holding the material away from her legs. Were it not for her handmaiden, carrying the small train of rich crimson silk that made up the back of the skirt, it would be almost impossible to walk in. The bodice helps little either, a corset that cinches her waist to proportions she'd not thought possible herself, layered over with golden silk inlaid with finely embroidered scarlet vines, miniscule gems scattered about the cloth to catch the light as she walks.

She takes as deep a breath as she can as they walk, hoping the effort it takes isn't visible to those watching her. In this, she's determined to match Empress Celene, to look as effortless in the gown as she does on horseback, or with a bow in her hand. In truth, it's not as difficult as she might have thought, for wearing it has instilled a sense of pride and power in her that she's determined to carry into her stride. Alistair, it seems, has noticed too, for her cocks his head as he glances to her, a sly smile on his lips.

'Do you feel as ravishing as you look, my dear?'

'Is it that obvious?'

'It is. Not that I'm complaining, you understand. Not complaining at all.'

She offers a quick smile, knowing just what the drop in his voice meant, and turns her gaze back to the room. Along each of the columns that line the room, wide, richly coloured swathes of scarlet and gold material are hung, paying homage to the rulers of Ferelden, and now and then, she notes a prancing mabari or two, sewn into the fabric. At the head of the room, two statues stand, carved wooden reliefs of two hounds that sit either side of the head table, their teeth bared in a fearsome snarl, their claws swiping at the air. She wonders how long they took to carve, how long ago they were commissioned, with each totem standing taller than even Alistair, a torch hanging from each raised paw accentuating the minute details of their carved fur.

As they near Artemis and Cullen, standing between the totems, she notices a collar around the statues' necks, a thin band of blue and silver, a subtle nod to their past as Grey Wardens.

Climbing the steps, she greets their hosts with a smile and a small curtsey, clasping the hands of each of them briefly before Alistair does the same.

'You look wonderful,' she murmurs to Artemis as she returns the gesture.

And she does, her usually loose hair swept up and coiled, shining gold in stunning compliment to the emerald green velvet of her dress. The cut leaves one shoulder bare, a swathe of material sweeping over the curve of her breasts in a way that only emphasises their generous swell. At her waist, a pattern swirls in golden relief, gathering material tight against her before allowing it to spill over her hips, shimmering as it flows to her feet.

Formalities underway, they take their seats, the guests in the hall following suit, as Artemis begins the required speech. Each gesture and compliment they're paid is returned, a long standing game of politeness that all political figures learned to play, regardless of their involvement in 'the game'.

It's at the end of Artemis's speech that Elizabeth notices the door at the far end of the room opening, a small group of people easing their way into the hall, followed by the large Qunari she had noticed earlier. Her back straightens of her own accord, eyes turning to Artemis. She had assumed that they would be meeting the rest of the Inquisition's most trusted members under less formal proceedings. In the crowd, perhaps, rather than in front of the room. But it makes sense, she supposes, a show of good faith, the monarchy of Ferelden meeting with Thedas's finest.

'King Alistair, Queen Elizabeth,' Artemis grins gesturing to the approaching group, 'it is my honour to introduce to you my esteemed companions. You've no doubt heard us speak of the 'Inner Circle'.'

'Of course.' Alistair stands, offering his hand to her and she takes it allowing him to help her to her feet before they move to wait by Artemis's side to greet the newcomers. 'We're most excited to.'

Nodding her agreement, Queen Elizabeth smooths her gown with the back of her hand, wrist flicking until she straightens her shoulders and back again, the neckline of the gown that sits in a low sweep just below the line of her shoulders, pulled against her skin. It's the tingle of anticipation, of intrigue, coupled with wariness that keeps her chin high as she flicks her gaze over the group.

They're not so different from her own companion, though more numerous; an odd collection of shapes and sizes, races, demeanours and, no doubt, backgrounds. She wonders if they work together as those she had gathered in the blight did, an odd sense of family, of common purpose forging lasting bonds. Was there a pariah, as Morrigan had been to their group? The one who looked after them all as Wynne had? The one they had all felt the need to look after?, she wonder, casting her gaze to her husband.

It's the dwarf who steps forwards first, as different from Oghren as Ferelden is from Orlais, well dressed and well groomed, if a little brazenly for her tastes. And he’s sober to boot. He crosses the few feet to the foot of the stairs, offering a gracious bow.

'Your Majesties! My I introduce myself, I am...'

'Varric, right?' Alistair cuts in, and the man looks up, a pleased smile as he rises from his bow. 'Varric Tethras? You're a friend of Serah Hawke.'

'I'm touched you remember me, King Alistair.'

'Well, as things in Kirkwall went, meeting Hawke's companions was one of the more pleasant memories.'

'Meredith, am I right? Not been emasculated too badly since then?'

Alistair chuckles, and as she listens. She can only imagine what must have happened in Kirkwall for it to be so memorable. Her husband had told her of course, but skipped much of the detail.

'Surprisingly not. Well, not that I remember anyway.' Alistair grins before motioning to her. 'I don't believe you've met my wife.'

'I haven't,' he replies, and his eyes flick to her. 'Of course, if I had, I'm certain I'd remember.' He smiles more broadly. 'An honour to meet the Warden Queen of Ferelden. Hawke has always been eager to meet you. For the first time, I might actually have beaten her at something.'

'I'm glad I could be of use, Master Tethras.'

'Use? No, no, not use. Although...'

'Something I could help you with?'

'Just out of interest, my lady...does the name 'Sword and Shields' sound familiar? Or perhaps 'Hard in Hightown'?'

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth notes how Josephine, stood on the dais with them, touches her forehead before she regains her propriety and schools herself again. The advertising of his books was not an unusual occurrence then.

'Varric!'

The cry comes from a woman stood to the side of the group, dark haired and dark eyed, a scar to rival Elizabeth's own on one cheek. She stalks to the front of the group, all but hoisting Varric aside by his collar, hissing to him lowly before turning and offering her own bow.

'Your Majesties, I apologise for Master Tethras. He forgets that not all of us have the time to read his frivolous literature.'

'Well, the queen's clearly busier than you are, Seeker.'

The woman scowls back at Varric but makes no further comment.

'This is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,' Artemis introduces. 'Cassandra was responsible, along with Leliana, for reinstating the Inquisition.'

'Most fortunate for Thedas that you chose to, it seems.' Elizabeth comments as Alistair nods in agreement.

'If I may, King Alistair, Queen Elizabeth. It is an honour to meet the wardens responsible for ending the fifth blight. I have read the accounts. It was no small task that you faced.'

'Indeed,' Alistair agrees. 'Although you should direct your praise to Elizabeth more than me.'

'Alistair,' she tuts, frustrated that after all this time he still holds her efforts as being more important than his. 'If it were not for you we would likely not be here. I couldn't have done it without you.'

'So you say love.' He smiles, although it’s clear he doesn't believe her.

Cassandra overlooks their little dispute, and steps forwards a pace.

'At any rate, I would like to speak with you if you have time this evening. Particularly with you, your Majesty.' She fixes Elizabeth with an intense gaze, the faintest blush on dark cheeks. 'I am always eager to hear the accounts of those who lead such journeys first hand.'

'If it please you, I'm sure we could find some time, Seeker.'

Nodding gratefully, Cassandra steps aside and Artemis makes to speak again, no doubt to introduce the next guest, when Alistair's stomach grumbles, loud enough to be heard by those nearest to them, prompting laughter from the group as he flushes, patting his belly.

'It's...uh, been a while since lunch.'

'Ah well, we wouldn't want to keep you waiting, King Alistair,' Artemis covers, 'if I may introduce everyone quickly and then I'm sure we can get to know each other more over the meal.'

Alistair nods his acquiescence, and in quick order, Artemis beckons each of her comrades; the Tevene, Dorian, with his sly smile and gilded voice, and Madame de Fer, Vivienne, of Orlais, her every move gilded with a grace to rival Empress Celene, provide them with short bows, just enough to show the respect required.

Then comes the Qunari, so called The Iron Bull, who grins and treats them with fumbling politeness, unsure of propriety but nervous enough to try to please them. The boy she had met earlier, Cole, stands beside him, utterly dwarfed by the man's sheer size, and yet surrounded by his own sense of self, of power.

And at last, the elven girl, Sera, who barely acknowledges them until Artemis hisses to her that it's only for tonight. In contrast to the girl's indifference, the Warden who stands next to her, Blackwall, seems almost tearful at meeting them.

'Blackwall?' Alistair asks, his head cocked as the man is introduced. 'As in, the Blackwall? My mentor, Duncan, mentioned you more than once. Back when he was alive, at least.'

'Ah I'm not the same man, King Alistair, much as I would be honoured to be,' the warden explains, his voice apologetic. 'I knew Warden Blackwall briefly. He'd chosen me to become a warden, but died before I could join. At the time I was...uh, fleeing from a shameful past. I took up the name as a disguise for some time. Now it's...more of a title. A mark of...respect, if you like, among those who know me.'

'I see,' Alistair hums as they make their way to their assigned seats, 'so your actual name is...?'

'Thom Rainier, your Majesty.'

'And which do you prefer to go by?' Elizabeth asks, sinking into the chair that a servant has pulled out for her.

'Blackwall, my lady. Blackwall is a far more honourable man than Rainier. That's what I aspire to be.'

She nods as a napkin is laid across her lap, a large goblet of red wine poured for each of them a moment later.

'So you did eventually take your joining, then?'

'Yes, shortly after Lady Artemis released me from my vows to serve the Inquisition. Nearly two years ago now.'

'You had your joining...after the events at Adamant?' Alistair asks, voicing the question which also arises in Elizabeth’s mind, as he takes a sip of wine. 'That didn't make you think twice?'

'I believe the wardens serve a purpose. A purpose that didn't end just because Warden-Commander Clarel made poor decisions. The order is needed, the order is honourable. Even if those in charge aren't.' His eyes flick to Elizabeth at his last comment, widening as he realises how his words could be taken, 'I mean no offence, ma'am.'

'I assure you, I take none, Blackwall. I am saddened to admit that you are right about our superiors.'

'Ours?'

'I answer to the First Warden, as do you. My position as Warden-Commander of Ferelden means very little to him. He is not fond of me or my views, to say the least.'

'Wait! You what...?'

The question, in the rough Denerim accent that so easily announces Sera's presence, cuts her response short, and Elizabeth lifts an eyebrow as she turns to look at the young woman.

'Is something amiss, Sera?'

'You're...' she casts an eye over Elizabeth in what is a clear appraisal, disdain present in her gaze, '...the boss of the wardens in Ferelden? Thought you were the Queen?'

'I am.'

The elf snorts.

'You can't be both - that's greedy even for a noble.'

Across from her, Vivienne sighs in what must be the most exaggerated manner she can manage.

'Sera, dear, do try to keep up. Queen Elizabeth and King Alistair are the reigning monarchs in Ferelden. They came to their positions during the Fifth Blight, as they are the wardens who ended it. More specifically, her Majesty is said to have ended the blight when she killed the Archdemon.'

'So? Doesn't mean you have to be both.'

'My position as Warden-Commander was bestowed upon me after the blight ended. The Orlesian wardens, specifically Clarel, contacted the first warden on my behalf to make the recommendation. I accepted because, at the time, Alistair and I were the only wardens left in Ferelden, and Alistair's first duty is to the crown.'

Snorting again, the woman knocks back the goblet of wine in front of her in one mouthful.

'Duty? What does a poncy king and queen know about duty?'

'Sera, that's enough.'

It's enough of a surprise to the table as Cullen reprimands the girl that they still in their seats to stare at the commander.

'What, Cully-wully? Thought you hated them too.'

'I have a disdain for those who abuse their power,’ he clarifies, taking a sip of wine, ‘Were it not for the king and queen I would not be here now. Nor would you, most likely. You were in Denerim when the darkspawn attacked.'

'So?'

'So the darkspawn would have slaughtered you. It was the efforts of the wardens, all two of them, that brought the army to Denerim, and saved those who were left inside the city walls.'

'You were in the alienage when the darkspawn attacked?' Alistair asks, the curiosity in his voice overriding his indignation for a moment, if the smoothing of his brow was anything to go by. Elizabeth suspects that his offence is taken not for himself, who would most likely laugh with the girl about nobility, but on her own behalf.

'Yesss...' Sera drawls, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. 'You people never listen do ya?'

'I only ask as...we passed through the alienage. Most of the elves there had evacuated, but a few chose to remain to try and defend their homes. Why were you still there?'

The waifish girl shrugs.

'Why would I know? I was just a kid.'

'I find it odd that you weren't evacuated, is all. Shianni had said almost all the women and children left.'

That gives the girl pause, and Elizabeth finds herself relieved as her expression changes from one of derision to confusion. The knot of anger in her belly uncoils a little, giving her a chance to quash the urge to retort.

'You know Shianni?'

'Of course. She's our ambassador to the elves in Denerim,' Alistair answers.

'I understand you may find this hard to believe, Sera, but Alistair and I would like to see a fairer society develop. A system where those in positions of responsibility are there due to their ability, not their birthright.'

Grey eyes flick over her and Alistair, the elf's expression one of disbelief before she shoves a piece of bread into her mouth.

'Whatever. Guess you could be bigger arseholes.'

'Well aren't you delightful?' Elizabeth mutters, squeezing Alistair's hand to discourage him from continuing the argument. It wouldn't help them to cause problems amongst Artemis's friends, despite how much she wants to make the girl understand. More than likely, they simply wouldn't have time to engage in the conversation needed, and at any rate she just wants to enjoy the evening.

Stroking a thumb over her knuckles, Alistair smiles back, understanding her meaning as he turns the conversation back to something less political. A moment later and the appetiser is served, and she's grateful for the temporary quiet that sets in as they eat.

'So, your Majesties...' Dorian begins when the first plates are cleared, and Elizabeth fixes her attention on him and The Iron Bull, who sits beside him. They're sat closer together than she would've expected, their manner surprisingly relaxed for a Tevene and Qunari. 'Has your stay been pleasant?'

The subject is banal at best, safe and polite and dull as anything, and not at all what she had expected from the man. From the way his eyes glint, she suspects that he might feel the same, that he's simply warming up.

'Very pleasant, thank you Master Pavus,' she answers, taking a sip of her wine as she eyes him over the rim of the goblet.

'Oh please, your Majesty, I insist you call me Dorian.'

'As you wish, Dorian. Have you travelled from Tevinter just to be here?'

'You say 'just' as though this,' he gestures to the room, 'is not enough. Such esteemed company, it would be a travesty to miss it. And of course, with the greatest respect, you haven't seen the Inquisition's full glory until you've met...well, us.'

'I somehow suspect that's entirely true.'

Beside Dorian, The Iron Bull shakes his head, patting the smaller man on the back, chuckling to himself.

'And when he says 'us', he means just him.'

Dorian smirks, settling back into his chair as he dabs wine from his moustache, and she hides a laugh behind her own napkin.

'But...we're not all here, Dorian.'

The comment said in a voice so soft Elizabeth only just catches it, comes from the boy she'd met earlier, and her heart sets to racing. There is something about him that, just as before, makes her nervous, and she takes a long drink of wine.

Alistair cocks his head, curious.

'Are you not?'

'Well, of course Leliana isn't here,' Cullen answers, his eyes focusing on the servants bringing in the second course. As he does, his hand finds Artemis's, squeezing. 'And there are those that chose to leave earlier than everyone else.'

'He means eggy and the witch-bitch,' Sera supplies, downing another glass of wine as Artemis’ companions shuffle. 'What? No point pretending they didn't just up and leave after Coryphyshit was dead.'

'Thank you, Sera, dear, that's most helpful,' Vivienne scolds again, before turning to Elizabeth and Alistair. 'By eggy, I believe Sera means Solas.'

'Solas?' Alistair asks, nibbling at a piece of bread, following it with more wine.

'Our...fade expert, I suppose you would call him,' Artemis supplies, her tone almost flat as she suppresses emotions. 'He was interested in ancient elven artefacts, particularly the orb Corypheus carried with him. When the orb was destroyed during our confrontation with Corypheus he just...disappeared afterwards.'

'I am sorry to hear that Artemis,' Elizabeth soothes as best she can, 'I'm no stranger to such things either.'

Alistair of course wiggles an eyebrow at her, knowing exactly who she's referring to.

'As for 'witch-bitch', Sera means 'Morrigan', but to be fair, it's an accurate description,' Dorian informs them.

It's met with a spray of wine from Alistair at the mention of his old enemy, the drink spat forth in his surprise, and Dorian looks somewhere between amused and disgusted.

'Ah, sorry.' Alistair flushes as servants rush forward to clean up the droplets of wine now decorating the table. 'Just...um. Morrigan, huh?' His eyes flick to Cullen and Artemis. 'You never mentioned that one.'

Artemis, a spoonful of soup part way to her mouth, pauses, startled by the sudden change. Beside her, Cullen frowns.

'I gathered from the few times that I spoke with Morrigan that you were not friends, Alistair, and it's not a surprise. But her affairs are her own and...she proved useful to the Inquisition. Would you have had us turn down her aid because you dislike her?'

'Alistair, is it?' Dorian smirks. 'Terribly informal of you, commander.'

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth leans forward, taking her husband's hand.

'Alistair, darling, it really isn't our business what Morrigan does these days. You haven't seen her for ten years.'

His fingers twitch beneath hers, a frown painting his face for a moment before he nods.

'You're right. My apologies, Artemis, Cullen. It's no business of mine. Though I do wonder what she's getting up to. Something...witchy, no doubt.'

Chuckling, she turns back to her soup, sipping at a spoonful.

'I have to wonder too. She surely didn't return to the Orlesian court.'

That catches her attention, more than Alistair's lingering resentment of the woman, and she meets Cullen's gaze.

'Morrigan was working for Empress Celene?'

Wide eyed, Artemis nods. Further down the table, Vivienne almost snorts.

Alistair raises an eyebrow.

'But it's still none of our business, right?'

Irritated at the news, but with no way to address the information or the feeling, Elizabeth lets out a slow breath.

'It's not. I had hoped that our friendship had meant more...but then again, Morrigan has never paid much mind to anything she considers superficial, such as borders.'

'Or, you know, loyalty,' Alistair supplies, and she resists the urge to scold him, turning her attention back to her soup.

Around them, she can almost feel the air turning chilly, murmured comments further down the table that she attempts to ignore. In all honesty, it is no fault of Morrigan's. The woman had always gone her own way, heedless of anything else but what she needed to do. Elizabeth had never expected anything more from her.

'With all respect, Queenie,' Varric comments, 'she's got a kid to look after. Maybe she's taking what she can get?'

'Really, Varric,' Vivienne tuts, 'one does not get offered the role of arcane advisor to the Empress of Orlais. Morrigan made herself known to Empress Celene intentionally. Certainly she needs to secure a future for her son, but she is not making such choices solely for his benefit.'

Sat amongst the Inquisition's finest, Elizabeth feels her back stiffen, barely hearing Vivienne's response. She'd known that Morrigan's spell had worked so many years ago, else she would not be here now, but at the time, the concept of the child had been simply that. A concept; an idea that had no importance at the time other than to serve as a way out for her and Alistair.

Now, she wonders if she should have been quite so complicit in the other woman's scheme, and without thinking she moves a hand to Alistair's thigh beneath the table, stroking in what she hopes is a soothing manner.

When she looks to him, he's staring into his soup, or, glaring to be more precise, his knuckles blanching with the grip he has on his spoon. A moment later and he's excusing himself, all but shoving back from the table and striding away, face set stern as two of their guards immediately flank him.

'Well...that was...'

'Is he...?'

'My, my, it seems...'

Fragments of conversation drift to Elizabeth as she watches Alistair's back retreat, and for the first time in what feels like an age, she finds herself at a loss. Instinct wars with pragmatism, a desire to chase him and offer comfort gripped by the need to stay and silence the company's wagging tongues. He's never done this before, never left her to deal with a problem alone, preferring to vent his frustration verbally, whether in public or not. This...this was new.

Across from her Artemis and Cullen are trying to dampen the gossip, hushing their companions, excusing Alistair's sudden disappearance, and Artemis gestures to her to follow. Rising as calmly as she can, Elizabeth smooths her gown again, offering a polite smile and following her husband's exit at a slower pace, hoping that she doesn't look as fraught as she feels.

To her relief, he hasn't gone far, having found himself in the small garden where they'd played chess a few days ago, and she pauses, watching him pace back and forth by the small gazebo in the centre of the garden, the two guards standing at both doors.

Lifting her skirt and slipping off the heels she wears, she steps down into well manicured grass, crossing to him with feet quiet against the lawn. She clears her throat when she's a few feet away, unwilling to startle him and he drops his hands from his face at the noise, wary until he realises its her. A hand combs through his hair, ruffling it into spikes reminiscent of those he had favoured as a younger man.

It's a pity his expression is so drawn, contrasting with his youthful hair.

'I never...' he begins, his voice wavering as he looks at her, eyes darting to the placid scenery around them before they return to her, '...I never thought about it after she left. After all I said at the time, the fuss I made about having my own bastard, and I never once thought about it. How stupid can I be to believe if I didn't think then it wouldn't be true? Putting it out of mind never made it any less real, I learned that years ago, and still I...'

'Alistair...' she calls, shaping his name to pull his attention to her, making him fix his eyes to hers, wet with unshed tears, dulled by guilt. '… we're both guilty of that, but what good does it for us to dwell on it?'

He smiles, the tug of his lips humourless.

'Ever the pragmatist, my love.'

She bites at her lower lip, hesitant to close the last few feet between them. Not when she is the cause of this. After all, it had been she who encouraged him to lay with Morrigan, she who made him make a choice that he would never have been comfortable with. Still, she owes it to him to try and comfort him now.

Stepping forwards, she closes the gap, taking his large hand in her own, and relief floods her chest when his fingers entwine with hers.

'Maker, ‘Lis, I have a son. What...what do I do with that?' He rubs a free hand over his face, pressing into his eyes, and she knows the tell-tale tremor in his shoulders, the way he won't pull his hand away. 'Even Maric bothered to remember I existed, and I couldn't...I never wanted to remember, but I didn't want to be...this.'

'You didn't know, Alistair,' she tries, tugging the hand from his face, his fingers wet, and when he meets her eyes again they're rimmed with red, 'you couldn't have. Even if we'd enquired, Morrigan would likely never have told us.'

'No. I should've done something. Tried to chase her down, or find out something, I could have sent Zevran after her, or...'

'Alistair,' she cuts in, voice firm, though she implores him as he looks to her, 'this is Morrigan. She didn't want you to know. We could have used every resource we have at our disposal and she would have found a way to hide it.'

Sliding closer now, she lifts a hand to cup his cheek, stroking the sharp line of his cheekbone.

'And it should not be your burden, Alistair. I was the one who listened to Morrigan, I chose to bring her offer to you. I should not have done so, it was never my right to put you in that situation. Nor this one.'

'But I agreed to go through with it,' he grips her hand, laid against his cheek, turning to kiss her fingers, 'so you can't say it's not my burden, ‘Lis. He's my son. And I don't even know his name.'

The words sting more than they should. His son. Not theirs. Her stomach twists, pain lancing through her chest for a moment, and she swallows back the words she had thought to say, the advice to let it go. Who was she to suggest he forget about his son?

He sighs, a great rush of air that seems to expel his frustration with it as he pulls her to him, crushing her against his chest as his shoulders sag.

'I...I'm so sorry, 'Lis. I just wanted to keep you safe, I wanted to do the right thing but now it's just...every decision I make just makes things worse in the long run. I just wanted us to have a happy ending.'

Pressed against him, she curls her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him against her.

'This isn't your fault, Alistair. You did what you thought you had to at the time, you did it to save us. You can't regret that.'

'I don't but...' he huffs, drawing back to meet her gaze, 'this was never fair. To him, or to you. What do I do?'

'For me?' she asks, 'I need nothing more than you. For him...I will see if I can get in contact with Morrigan.'

'She won't let me meet him.'

She nods, knowing that was probably true, but if it could ease his mind at all, she is willing to try.

'Let me talk to her. We shall see.'

Heaving a sigh again, he smiles, a soft quirk of full lips.

'I...I don't know what I'd do without you.'

She has an idea, some part of her mind telling her that he'd be far better off without her, but she bites her tongue, knowing the response she would get; that it would only upset him further. Instead she smiles back at him.

'Do you think you can manage the rest of the evening?'

'Only if you're with me. I know what you're thinking, ‘Lis, but I mean what I say...without you...nothing's right.'

For all the years they've spent together, every sentiment, every profession of love he's given her, it still makes her heart beat faster, and she presses in close again, kissing the side of his neck as he holds her.

'No matter what we’re facing, my love, I know that if we're together, we can get through it. Right?'

'Right.'

She slides back, hands running along the heavy silk sleeves of his tunic to grip his hands.

'Shall we go and make nice?'

'We shall.' He smirks, sliding an arm around his waist as she turns to walk back to the hall. 'Potential scandal aside, how are you liking the evening?'

She titters at his small talk.

'The soup had a little too much pepper.'

'Huh. Shame.'

The sounds from the hall filter back in as they approach, clattering of crockery and raised voices. It seemed their sudden disappearance hadn't caused any concern, and they slip back, hoping for a discreet return.

It doesn't work, of course, heads turning to look at them as they enter, and she slips her hand into the crook of his arm, prompting a soft smile from her. At the far end of the hall, Artemis suddenly stands, along with Josephine and they hurry over.

'King Alistair, Queen Elizabeth, are you both well?' Josephine asks, eyes wide with worry. Artemis glances to her, bemused by her advisor taking the lead, perhaps, before looking back to them, her gaze questioning.

'We're fine, thank you ambassador. It's a...somewhat personal issue between Morrigan and ourselves. I'm sure you understand that, given our history, we'd rather not discuss it,' Alistair answers.

'I understand, your Majesty. Are you happy to continue the evening?'

'More than happy.' Elizabeth smiles and they ease back to the top table.

They're met with curious glances as they retake their places, whispered comments from one ear to another, met with smirks from some, frowns from others. At the far end of the table, Cole looks on with his too large, too blue eyes. If he means to say something, it's stifled by the warning look that Cullen sends his way.

'My apologies for the sudden exit, everyone,' Alistair offers as he dips into his seat, though not before he's pulled the chair that Elizabeth sits in.

'Is there something amiss, King Alistair?' Vivienne asks, a neat eyebrow lifted in curiosity.

'Not at all. Bad blood between myself and Morrigan, nothing more. I'm sure you understand. Morrigan was never easy to get on with.'

'True enough. I do wonder how young Kieran copes with a mother such as she.'

'Kieran, is it?' Alistair asks, and Elizabeth grips his hand.

Across the table Cullen meets Elizabeth gaze, and she mouths 'don't worry' at him before turning her attention back to the conversation and steering it away from the subject. Tongues may well wag but not at her table, not on her watch. And if Alistair were to learn more about his son, she would rather it be from Morrigan herself than second hand knowledge passed on by strangers.

The tension across her husband's shoulders releases as The Iron Bull begins to regale them with a tale of his chargers and for once, she and Alistair are happy to sit and let someone else do the talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks once again for reading. Any kudos or comments are hugely appreciated. In particular, as I've never written any of the other companions before, I'd be eager to see how people felt about my portrayal of them.
> 
> The next chapter is already written, so there won't be as long a gap in updating this time. Only editing left to be done now.
> 
> And as always I'm still [here](http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if anyone fancies following.
> 
> Thanks again for reading. Until next chapter :)


	22. For a few moments more (NSFW - Alistair x Elizabeth x Cullen x Artemis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> So just a quick note, this is indeed the penultimate chapter, I hope it's as good as everyone's expecting it to be. This is the first time I've ever attempted to write a foursome so it could be a disaster, but hopefully it'll do what it's supposed to.
> 
> This chapter is also from Elizabeth's POV, just because I had intended for this chapter and the one before to be one giant chapter, before I decided it was a bit too giant.
> 
> Also, while this is the last full chapter of the story, there will be a short epilogue to come.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Chapter 22: For a few moments more

It's sometime later when they finish eating, the dinner interspersed with long bouts of conversation going on for far longer than Elizabeth had hoped for. Under normal circumstances she'd have been delighted to get to know Artemis's companions better, but with the night wearing on, any chance of having a private audience with Cullen and Artemis seemed to grow smaller.

Still, the Inquisition’s inner circle were a colourful bunch, a mix of personalities that clashed and contrasted, but somehow still worked. Despite the mild tension between themselves and Sera, they had found a pleasant rapport with most of the team. It wasn't quite camping in the wilderness for weeks on end with Darkspawn breathing down their necks, but it conjured a pleasant sense of reminiscence.

At some point in the evening Elizabeth finds herself dancing with Blackwall whilst recounting her time in the Deep Roads during the Blight, before sharing a glass of wine with Dorian and discussing Cullen's chess tactics.

'I lost,' she admits, trying to shrug off her embarrassment as Dorian laughs, 'though I was a little distracted.'

'Yes, he has that effect doesn't he?'

'Quite,' she agrees, eyeing the blonde commander as he nods along with whatever Cassandra is saying.

'Of course, our dashing commander is not quite the tactician he thinks he is,' Dorian drawls, a smirk in his voice the draws Elizabeth's attention back to him.

'Do tell.'

'Has he told you of his skill at Wicked Grace?'

As if Dorian had used some sort of summoning phrase, Varric appears at her elbow.

'Whoa, whoa. If you're going to tell Queenie about Curly's humiliation you have to do it properly.'

'...do you ever call anyone by their given name, Master Tethras?'

Varric shrugs and smiles, as though suddenly sheepish.

'I mean, I could but...well, life's more fun with a bit of embellishment. Take your own story, my lady. Honour, glory, grief, betrayal, love, all that good stuff. But if you add in some extra flair, maybe some...bodice ripping for example. There's your bestseller.'

'Oh I can assure you, Varric, that in my tales bodice ripping is not merely an embellishment for the sake of pushing copies.' She gives as sly a smile as she can over the rim of her glass, watching as Varric's face lights up.

'Is that so?'

'It is.' She turns to look over her shoulder to where Alistair is chatting in his usual animated manner with The Iron Bull and Blackwall, his hands gesturing above his own head, catching her eye as he does. Pausing, he cocks his head in curiosity and she trawls her eyes over his form before winking. His face all but bursts into flame.

Beside her Dorian chuckles and Varric throws back his head with laughter.

'My own...pursuits aside, you were telling me of the commander's lack of skill with cards.' She continues.

'Ah that...'

As Varric begins to regale her with the story of Cullen's ill advised attempt at gambling, the members of the inner circle drift towards them, first Sera and Cole, then The Iron Bull and Blackwall who drag Alistair with them. Josephine seems to know the story by heart - she approaches already grinning, with Vivienne and Artemis. Drawn by the crowd, Cullen and Cassandra join them last, just in time for the punch line.

'And he just says to me “not a word, dwarf” as Ruffles walks away with his clothes!'

Laughter erupts from everyone gathered, save poor Cullen who flushes. Alistair slaps him on the arm, eyes bright with mirth. There's a tint to his cheeks that tells of too much wine, and Elizabeth reaches for him, sliding an arm around his waist. Her king waggles his eyebrows suggestively at the contact.

That, she suspects, is their cue to bid farewell for the evening.

'Careful there, Queenie. Looks like you might have put ideas into Freckles's head.'

'Freckles?' Alistair asks, with a snort.

'Well you know, I was going to go with Snowflake, but Freckles seemed more fitting.'

'I'm not a snowflake, you're a snowflake. Look you're all...flaky and...snowy...?' Alistair retorts, though he seems confused by his own insult, and Elizabeth tightens her grip on his waist.

'And with that, I think we had best bid you all a goodnight. Thank you for a most enjoyable and interesting evening, everyone. It was a pleasure to meet you all.'

She's met with similar sentiments, Artemis and Cullen's friends wishing them a pleasant evening, and she smiles and nods, even as Cullen wraps an arm around Alistair's shoulders.

'Let me help you get him to your chambers, my lady.'

'And I'll get the doors.' Artemis adds.

She nods, and with a final smile to the group, she begins to manoeuvre Alistair towards the door at the far end of the hall. Artemis holds it open for them, ushering them through and deflecting the attention of the other guests. When the door clunks shut behind them, she begins leading them down the corridor, and then takes a sudden left turn. The door here is locked, but with a roguish grin she produces a key and unlocks it. Despite the long unused appearance of the door, it swing inwards without so much as a squeak.

They stagger through, Alistair between them, and Artemis casts a spell that illuminates the dark passageway, before shutting the door behind them. Out of sight of prying eyes, Alistair straightens, taking his weight off herself and Cullen, his inebriation seeming to evaporate and his brow furrows as he pulls away from their arms and turn to face them.

'So...Varric's one for nicknames then?' Alistair asks, sliding out of Cullen's grip to face them.

'I thought you were drunk?' Cullen frowns.

'Not now, Cullen. He wanted to call me Snowflake!'

'We heard,' the commander replies, and Elizabeth sighs. It was not the first time Alistair had feigned drunkenness to get away from a social engagement early.

'He's going to call me that forever now, isn't he?'

'Probably,' Artemis concedes, looking amused at the prospect.

'Yes, yes, we all get odd names from Varric,' Cullen dismisses, 'but as I said, I thought you were drunk?'

'Well... you know...I wanted to spend some time with you all in private before we leave tomorrow,' Alistair murmurs after a moment, his shoulders drooping, 'It's just...it's a stupid thing I do to get away from that kind of thing. I didn't mean to...mislead or drag you away. I guess it isn't fair, you want to talk to your friends and here I am making childish excuses to take you away from them.'

'Alistair,' Cullen sighs, the disapproval on his face melding into concern, 'you could have just said so. You needn't make ploys of it.'

'To be fair, Cullen,' Artemis speaks, her voice echoing in the passageway, 'we needed a cover story. Alistair has provided that.'

'That's true enough, I suppose.' Cullen nods, looking to Alistair, and the tension drains from the king's frame, a timid smile returning to his face as he looks to each of the three of them.

'So...does that mean we get to...say goodbye properly? All four of us?'

A silence falls over them, but Elizabeth can't help but smile at the tentative hopefulness on her husband's face. A glance to Artemis and Cullen, and she nods.

'I would like that.'

'As would I,' Cullen adds, looking to Artemis.

She glances between them before the slyest of grins crosses her lips.

'It would seem the perfect way to do so, wouldn't it? I'm game.'

To Elizabeth's surprise, it's Artemis who takes her by the hand, pulling her in and standing on tiptoes to press their lips together, her arms sliding to encircle her waist, anchoring them to each other. She wishes she could feel more, the numerous and heavy layers of her underthings blocking everything but the sensation of pressure, and so she lifts her hands to cup the other woman's jaw, tilting her head to make for a more comfortable position as they embrace.

Her lips are so soft, so supple; stained with a striking bronze paint that somehow tastes of fresh berries. It mingles with the wine that still coats her tongue, an odd contrast of sweet acidity that has Elizabeth craving more, and she nudges her tongue against those full lips, a not so subtle request for access that Artemis obliges without hesitation.

'Save some for us, ladies.' Alistair's voice, light with his joy at the situation, hitches with his breath as she opens her eyes to regard him, her lips still sealed to the other woman's. Seizing the initiative, he sidles up behind Artemis, tugging off his gloves and dropping them to the floor before pressing up against her back.

Crushed between the two of them, Artemis pulls back from Elizabeth, her attention turning to Alistair as he dips to claim her mouth instead, and Elizabeth takes the opportunity to kiss at the Inquisitor's taut neck. There's a new scent on her skin today, richer than the light sweet fragrances she's used to from her, but that heaviness is enticing. It speaks of confidence, and along with the woman's bolder choice of attire and paint today, she wonders if this is a new, more daring side to Artemis emerging from the mousy girl she appears to be.

It suits her, she thinks, suits her power and position, and the vision of her as a woman - full, sweeping curves and soft features that could be wielded as a weapon, if she chose to. Not unlike Captain Isabella, and yet there's something far more appealing about the Inquisitor. She isn’t sure if it’s the promise of tussling with someone of equal power, or if she is, perhaps, beginning to consider the other woman as more than a friend.

Not that it matters. Not when they're pressed belly to belly, listening to the soft groans that escape from her and Alistair, quiet notes of pleasure that she knows are only going to get louder as the evening goes on.

To the left of the three of them, Cullen stands, ever patient, ever vigilant, the sharp gold of his eyes taking in the detail of the scene before him. When Elizabeth pulls her lips from the other woman's throat, she meets his gaze, curious that he's not decided to involve himself just yet.

'Something amiss, Cullen?' she asks, aware of the breathlessness of her voice.

'I...' he pauses, head cocking towards the locked door, his face suddenly set stern, 'I could have sworn I heard...footsteps. There is no chance that we were followed, was there?'

Alarm spikes in her stomach, and Elizabeth slips free of her lovers' grips, her spine straightening.

'No, no one came behind us,' Artemis answers, though her voice drops to a lower volume and she eyes the door. 'Let me check a moment.'

The woman tidies her hair, before opening the door a crack, peering out before sliding through the door to the corridor.

'It's likely nothing,' Cullen murmurs, trying to reassure, though his tone suggests anything but belief in his words. 'One of the servants, perhaps.'

A moment later Artemis reappears, slipping back through the door and shutting it behind her, as quietly as she can, before she motions for them to move further down the corridor, until the door has disappeared into the gloom.

After a few minutes, she halts.

'Do we have anything to fear?' Elizabeth finds herself asking, her voice hushed.

'No. That route leads down to the kitchens if you go far enough. The footsteps were Cole, he'd gone looking for meat for Darkspawn. He's taken a shine to him,’ Artemis explains.

'Cole!' Elizabeth remembers suddenly, the boy from this morning, and Artemis looks at her, an eyebrow quirked in question.

'I had meant to ask...there's something a little...'

'He's a spirit,' Artemis answers before Elizabeth can finish, 'or...he was. The original 'Cole' was a mage who died at Templar hands in Orlais. The spirit came through and inhabited his body.'

'Ah...not unlike Justice. But...he is perceptive, isn't he? I worry. I encountered him this morning, when I went for a walk. It felt as though he knew something.'

'It's possible, but the longer Cole is with us, the more human he becomes, so those abilities are diminishing. I'll speak with him tomorrow, if it eases your mind.'

'He's not the type to talk...if he does know?'

'I'm certain he doesn't. But he can be discreet, if I ask him to be.'

She offers a tight smile. It doesn't put her mind fully to rest, but she trusts Artemis and her judgement. Perhaps it was simply her own paranoia. She sighs, attempting to let go of the tension that had gathered in her shoulders.

'Cole is loyal to a fault,' Cullen comments, his voice soft. 'And as much as he is perceptive, he can also be oblivious to what it all means. Despite his relationship with Maryden.'

'It won't be a problem, 'Lis,' Artemis soothes again, and Elizabeth allows the smaller woman in close again, pressing their lips together once more, letting herself to be distracted as Alistair presses in behind her once more, returning to their earlier position.

He kisses her neck, arms sliding around her waist, fingers finding Artemis's over her skin, and before long she feels her pulse quicken again, her cooled passions renewed. To the side of them, Cullen grunts softly and she opens her eyes, turning her attention back to him.

His eyes flick to hers, roaming over her body before travelling to Alistair and Artemis as they pause in their pursuit. He looks as though he's been caught unaware, his studying of them interrupted. His shoulders, raised a fraction, drop again, tensions fading and the softest smile she's ever seen him wear curves his lips.

'Cullen?' Alistair asks, voice roughened. 'Not having second thoughts, are we?'

'No,' he replies after a moment, his voice calm, gentle. 'Do not take my lack of input as hesitation. I am merely...taking the chance to commit this to memory. It is not often that I have the chance to see those whom I care about most together, and certainly not at ease.'

The words surprise Elizabeth, Cullen's gentler nature, his soft heart so often hidden behind armour and tactics, brave faces and bold actions, that she forgets that he is not so different from Alistair. Between the two of them, Artemis shifts, easing free of their hold to cross to him, wrapping her arms about his waist, his chin resting atop her head. Half her face pressed to Cullen's chest, the Inquisitor eyes her and Alistair as they stand in the corridor, unsure how to react.

'Get in here you dolts,' she commands when they make no move, and with a laugh Alistair takes Elizabeth's hand, pulling her to the other couple. They flank Artemis as she nestles against Cullen, Elizabeth catching her husband's hand where it rests on the small of the Inquisitor's back, her other hand sliding to rest on Cullen's shoulder blade as the four of them fit together as best they can.

Abashed, Cullen's cheeks flush in the light of Artemis's spell before he drops a kiss to her forehead, and turns to Alistair, pressing their lips together as the taller man leans into the embrace. When they part, Cullen turns his gaze on Elizabeth, his eyes questioning, until she nods, giving him the permission he doesn't need to kiss her.

It baffles her that this man can think to be so hesitant, so chaste when he kisses her, when but a few days ago he had taken her hard as she'd been sandwiched between him and Alistair. And yet she knows that she's the same. Carnal instincts are easy to obey, to express, once you learned to move past your embarrassment. This tender exchange, an admission of feelings he no doubt still wondered if he should have, is far more daunting than any sexual act. For all of them, she’s sure.

After a breath, he breaks their kiss, his eyes almost shy as he pulls away, even as Elizabeth glances down to where his breeches have begun to tent. All three other gazes follow.

'Well...now that the warm and fuzzy part of the evening is over, let's get back to the unbridled caboodling, shall we?' Alistair suggests before he pauses, his expression one of exaggerated thought. 'Oh. And it's Friday too. How about that?'

'Ah...what?' Is the only response that Artemis can muster, and Elizabeth titters, remembering the joke from long ago.

'If you ever come to visit us in Denerim,' 'Lis answers, 'you will learn that Alistair has a tight schedule. Monday's are reserved for court, Wednesday's are for flower picking, Thursday's for exercise and Friday's for...more amorous things.'

'And what of Saturday, Sunday and Tuesday?' Cullen asks, though the look of resignation that appears on his stern features a moment later suggests that he regrets the question.

'Ah, well,' Alistair announces, 'Saturday is for cake, Sunday is for praying and Tuesday's are absolutely always reserved for ritual dismemberment.'

'Charming.'

'Isn't it?' Elizabeth sighs. 'There is, I find, nothing quite like the mention of dismemberment to cool any fires that might have been starting to smoulder.' She sends a pointed look to her husband who grins sheepishly under it.

'Well, we could have a few bottles of wine back in your rooms...' Alistair suggests, only to be interrupted by Cullen pushing him against the nearby wall, his hands fisted in his king's collar.

'Or I could take you right here.'

'….Fire still a-blazing, then?' Alistair gasps, pressed against the wall.

'We have a matter of hours left, I'll not let them pass without making the most of them.'

He crushes their mouths together before Alistair can get another word in, fingers threading through golden red hair before he pulls the taller man away from the wall.

'Ladies? Care to assist?'

They don't need to be told twice, hurrying to join the men, and Elizabeth gives her husband a playful squeeze on the rump, earning her a grin from Artemis. The Inquisitor slides in next to her as Cullen devours Alistair's mouth, both pairs of hands sliding under the hem of his tunic, stroking at warm skin. He presses into their touch, arching, muscles rolling under smooth planes, groaning against Cullen's mouth.

Gripping at the tunic, Elizabeth tugs as Artemis's nimble fingers uncinch the ornate belt that the king wears, discarding the swathe of golden fabric that had been wrapped about his waist, beneath the belts. As soon as the material comes free, it's tossed away, and Artemis joins her in tugging the tunic up until it bunches at his chest, revealing pale skin. There were occasions that Elizabeth wished Alistair would follow royal protocol more when it came to his garments and wear the appropriate layers beneath. Today, she's glad that he doesn't, welcoming the sight of pale skin, the dusting of golden red hair on his chest and belly, the spray of freckles on his skin.

The men pause in their own motions, allowing the silk tunic to be eased off over Alistair's head, and Cullen barely lets the material hit the floor before he guides Alistair's head back, nipping at his jaw and neck as Elizabeth and Artemis set to work on his chest and stomach, kissing, licking at flushed skin, nails coaxing nipples to hardness, grazing over the firm expanse of his stomach. The belt holding his dress trousers up is discarded in a heartbeat, before they peel leather from his body, tugging the breeches down to his knees, working in tandem to strip him before turning their attention to bulging smalls, all but tearing them off.

He's not quite at full attention, his shaft still swelling as they trail kisses over the sharp lines of his hipbones, hands straying to grip at his thighs and backside, anchoring him in place. With a glance to Artemis, pale blue eyes meeting her own, Elizabeth takes him in hand, rolling soft foreskin back and forth over his head, feeling him harden with every pulse, until he's thick and full, standing proud. Rubbing her thumb over his head once more, she rolls back skin, revealing the damp, reddened glans, leaning back to present him to Artemis.

She takes her cue without pause, bronzed lips sealing around his head. She doesn't wait for him to adjust to the sensation, sucking hard, her cheeks hollowing, and Alistair bucks at the intensity, groaning low in his throat. Above them, Cullen chuckles, thumb running over a taut nipple, and Elizabeth feels herself throb, temperature spiking under the multiple layers of her gown as Alistair writhes.

With Artemis sucking on Alistair's length, Elizabeth turns her attention to his balls, taking the heavy sack in hand and rolling the weight in her palm. Underneath her other hand, the muscles of his thigh quiver, Alistair's hand finding her hair, the other carding into Artemis's blonde locks. It's as she leans in, tongue tracing up the seam of his sack that his grip tightens, a moan escaping him even as he tugs on their hair. Hissing at the tension on her scalp, ‘Lis draws back, noting that Artemis has done the same, leaving Alistair's stiffened member glistening in the light of her spell.

'Alistair?' she asks, looking up to her husband, seeing his chest heaving. Cullen lifts an eyebrow, as intrigued as she is at his reaction.

'Need to stop,' he pants, trying to control his breathing, 'too much, too fast. I don't want to finish this soon.'

'We don't mind.' Artemis grins and Alistair chortles.

'I do,' he replies, offering a hand to Elizabeth and Artemis, pulling them to their feet. 'Besides, it would be nice to not be the only one who's naked.'

'Well you only have to ask,' Cullen purrs, pulling off the jacket and sash he wears, dumping them on the floor with disdain. His boots are toed off a second later, trousers and underwear joining the pile and he rolls his shoulders, stretching stiff muscles before he turns and scoops Elizabeth into his arms.

She shrieks at the motion, unexpected as it is, earning sputtered laughter from Alistair as Artemis lifts a brow.

'Cullen, sweet, what are you doing?'

'We can't let our queens disrobe here, not in these gowns,' he smiles, sly, 'so I suggest you let us take you back to the bedchamber where we can do this properly.'

'You know, I would complain about inequality, but...if there's boobs involved...' Alistair grins, following Cullen's lead and lifting Artemis into his arms.

Secure in Cullen's arms, Elizabeth lets herself relax as he carries her, amused and aroused by the notion of being carried by the strapping man, his flesh warm against hers. A little way ahead, Alistair walks, and she grins at the enticing little wobble of his full, not entirely firm arse.

'I'm going to miss that view.' Cullen murmurs, his eyes fixed on the sight before them, his voice wistful.

'I'm sure we can come to some arrangement to see each other again. And, I mean this not to be callous but...the Inquisition will not be around forever. You have served most of your purpose...Perhaps, if it would interest you, there may be a place for you and Lady Artemis at the palace?'

'My queen, are you asking us to move in?'

'We would have to discuss it at length of course, and be careful with how it is arranged but...it may be a possibility. I admit it would be nice to have friends so close again. And I shall miss you both.'

The commander looks somewhat taken aback by her display of sentiment, his eyes widening before they soften and he nods.

'And we, you, I'm certain. We can come to some arrangement though, in time. Perhaps, as you say, when the Inquisition is no longer required.'

Silence falls as they continue down the hallway, feelings lying heavy, and in a bid to distract herself, Elizabeth wriggles in Cullen's arms, twisting until she can lock her arms around his neck, pulling his head down to kiss him. His scar twitches against her lips, a hard line that seems an odd counterpoint the softness of the rest of his mouth, before his tongue invades, warm and wet, demanding. Wrapping her fingers in golden curls, she puts as much passion into the kiss as she can muster, feeling his arms tighten around her, pressing her into his broad, bare chest. Enveloped by his scent, his warmth, his strength, she barely notices when they reach the end of the cramped corridor until he sets her down at the base of a ladder.

Artemis is already half way up, Elizabeth notices, her lighter gown gathered in a bustle above her backside, leaving her legs free to climb as Alistair eyes the view. She clears her throat, calling his attention to her, and he blushes at being caught before looking her over, taking in the gown she wears.

'Oh. That is not practical.'

'Indeed,' she agrees. 'So...care to help me out of it?'

'I admit, it seems Artemis and I didn't think this through...but this will work out nicely.' Cullen smirks.

The sound of stone grating disturbs them, and Elizabeth blinks as she looks up to see Artemis shoving the hatchway above the ladder aside and crawling through, before she turns to poke her head back through.

'Ohhh...we forgot about the gown.'

'Yes, I gathered.'

Artemis grins, sheepish.

'We'll be there in a moment, love,' Cullen replies.

A heartbeat later and his hands are plucking the ties of her gown loose, as Alistair crouches, lifting the hem of her gown and picking up her foot, sliding the delicate court shoe off before repeating with the other. She glances down, catching sight of his eyes, rich amber in the weak light filtering from above, a cheeky grin spreading over his full lips.

In a flash, he's moving again, arms disappearing under the layers of her dress, warm, calloused hands running up the backs of her calves, the insides of her thighs. When he reaches their apex, a dark copper brow lifts, eyes darkening as his voice drops to a huskier register.

'My dear wife, did you forget something today?'

'A calculated decision, dear husband.'

'You minx,' he murmurs, fingers brushing across her seam, trailing through closely trimmed curls, no barrier of cloth to diminish the sensation of his touch. 'What would the Orlesians think to know Queen Elizabeth of Ferelden walks about with no knickers on in the Inquisitor's grand halls?'

'I imagine they'd think it positively salacious.'

Behind her Cullen scoffs, working in silence, his fingers still tugging on laces, and she feels the bodice of her gown loosen about her chest.

'If I may interject - I suspect far more depraved things occur in the Orlesian courts.'

At her feet, Alistair tuts.

'Someone doesn't know the rules of dirty talk.'

'And what are the rules of dirty talk, my king?' Cullen all but purrs, and Elizabeth shudders to hear his voice at her ear.

'Ignore the truth for the sake of maintaining the smut. Also, please, oh Maker please, use that voice again.'

'Are you enjoying it?' the commander asks, and Elizabeth feels herself pulse at the low tremor in his tone, the warm air against the shell of her ear as the laces at the small of her back are loosened, the material of her gown beginning to pool at her waist.

'I am,' Alistair concedes, and she glances to see the erection between his parted thighs bob, 'but more importantly, so is my beautiful wife.'

'Is that so?'

'She pulses every time you speak.' He strokes a finger across her seam again, slickened by her arousal now. 'And she's soaked.'

It feels odd to have her husband speak of her so, as if she's a possession to be flaunted, and yet a part of her, somewhere deep in her belly and loins, relishes it. Nevertheless, she clears her throat, and when she speaks her voice is a touch breathless.

'I am still here, gentlemen.'

'Oh we know,' Alistair murmurs, voice dropping low again, and with the lightest push slips the tip of his finger inside her. She gasps at the slide, his thick finger sinking deeper, and she groans, head reclining to rest on Cullen's shoulder. The man behind her pauses in untying her gown to nip at her neck, soft lips trailing down her shoulder, hot breath accompanying before he resumes his task.

Beneath the heavy skirts of her gown, Alistair curls his fingers, rubbing slow against the spot on her front wall, and Elizabeth feels her hips stutter as sensation sparks through attentive nerves, hips grinding down against his knuckles. Relief comes just as Cullen finishes loosening her gown, sliding the material from her chest, over her hips and she hears the hush of material as it slips free, catching on Alistair's arms. Her eyes flutter open as he withdraws his fingers, popping them in his mouth to clean them of her excitement before scooping the gown into his arms.

'Up you go, my lady.' Cullen prompts her with a kiss to her nape and a gentle nudge towards the ladder.

Legs still feeling wobbly, Elizabeth slips the hoop that surrounds her feet off before gathering up her petticoats and climbing the ladder. Artemis waits at the top, wine in hand, and she presses a glass into her own palm before pressing their lips together for a bare second.

Behind them, the ladder creaks as Cullen ascends, followed by Alistair, both men emerging from the small gap in the stone floor into the bedchamber. It's illuminated by low candlelight, Artemis's spell dissipating, a fire in the hearth, and the silence between them creeps back, broken only by the shifting of feet.

'We should...' Cullen begins, only to be cut off as Artemis grips the back of his neck, pulling him down to her height to seize his mouth.

'You,' she states, when they've parted, taking a sip of wine, '...need to do something to rectify this situation, commander.' She gestures down at her still clothed state, wine glass in hand.

Elizabeth smiles her agreement, and within a moment she's at Artemis's side, helping her to undress, peppering her skin with kisses as it's revealed. The scrape of stone on stone alerts her to Alistair sliding the trapdoor back into place, and then he's pressing himself against Artemis's back, encouraging the other woman to crane her head to kiss him.

Inches away from Artemis's lips, she whines in dismay, staring at her husband until he returns her gaze.

'You don't get all the fun, my dear. You have to share.'

She pouts, turning her attention back to Artemis's graceful throat as her fingers stray beneath the neckline of her gown, wedging into thick velvet to coax a nipple to hardness. It doesn't take long, and she feels herself moisten further at the soft moan the blonde woman gives. She loves how vocal she is when she gets started, the sound making her throb, aware of heat coiling in her loins and it only intensifies when Cullen eases in beside her.

With the greatest ease, he grips the heavy fabric of Artemis's dress, and tugs hard, revealing a pink tipped breast; wasting no time, he dives in, stooping to take it in his mouth and pulling hard until she gasps. He releases her with a pop, admiring his handy work, running a finger over her stiff, darkened nipple.

Elizabeth looks on, fingers still teasing the other nipple to hardness, breath catching as Cullen leans back in, placing delicate rings of love bites around her darkened areola.

'Is my lady feeling left out?' he asks, breaking the hush, forehead resting against Artemis's chest, the tip of his nose resting against her nipple.

'Yes.' The word leaves her in a rush of breath, fingers stalling on the other woman's breast as Cullen grins, smug and sly.

'Well, we can't have that, can we? But perhaps we can get Artemis out of this clothing first?'

'Yes, sir.' She breathes, tugging her hand free of the woman's gown to work at the laces at the sides, the fine golden thread coming free easily under the weight of her bosom. As she pulls the material away, Cullen sets to undoing the ties of the waist cinch beneath, loosening the bodice before easing it down to her hips. When it pools there, he shoves at the material, tugging the slip beneath off, leaving the Inquisitor in her smalls. The front of which are damp, and Elizabeth reaches down, running a finger over slickened cotton, Artemis shivering under her touch.

'Patience, my love,' Cullen soothes, hand ghosting over the gentle curve of her stomach. 'Our queen here still isn't quite ready.'

Artemis's pale eyes flutter open, head dropping from its recline to look at Elizabeth, and the queen straightens her spine, smoothing her breathing under the gaze of three pairs of eyes.

'This isn't like you, 'Lis,' Alistair teases, a smirk on his lips as he drops a kiss to Artemis's neck before approaching his wife. 'Where's my naked lady?'

'Under this bodice and numerous petticoats. Which, you'll be delighted to hear, are all fully removable.'

Alistair grins, moving to press against her in a heartbeat, gesturing for the others to join him. In a few moments she's surrounded by bodies, her eyes falling closed, as a hand slides to cup her neck, lips pressing to her own. The remaining hands set to work, unlacing the numerous layers of petticoats, sliding the silken straps of bodice and chemise from her chest, and all at once she finds herself nude, warmed only by the flicker of the fire in the hearth and the bodies of her lovers pressed against her.

This is it then.

Something knots in her belly, a painful mix of nerves and desire, and she shudders under the onslaught, feeling warm skin pressing against hers, the hard lines of muscle behind her, smooth skin and rough fingers playing over her breasts, her belly. She can feel Artemis sure enough, the fullness of the woman's ample chest pressed just beneath her own, soft flesh meeting, and she's struck with a desire to pin her down and suckle her as she had the other day.

And yet she doesn't want to part from the hot wet mouth that's pressed to her own, tongue stroking hers. She knows without doubt that it's Alistair who she kisses back, and she knows, if only by omission, that it's Cullen who presses his hand against her mound, a finger running up and down the length of her wet cleft in a manner that's utterly maddening.

Torn between pouncing on each of them to have her own way and submitting to their glorious worship of her body, she moans, twitches under their hands. It's Alistair lips at her ear, teeth nibbling at the edge, and his words that help her decide;

'Let go for once, 'Lis.'

She lets go. A wave of relaxation spiked with lust washes over her, and she realises that she's moaning at every sensation, letting herself be carried away by heat and pressure and pleasure. In some corner of her mind, irritation prickles, annoyed by her own selfishness, and she frowns even as Cullen's lips cover hers, aching to touch her lovers and bring them as much joy as they're bestowing upon her.

'You'll get your chance,' Cullen hums against her lips as her hand twitches against the broad of his back, the other clutching at Artemis's well curved hip. Behind her, Alistair kneads at her buttock, his lips pressed to Artemis's as the woman steps onto tiptoes, crushing her between the two of them in order to reach him.

There's too much going on, she realises; eight pairs of hands roaming, gripping, stroking, desperate to touch soft flesh as wet mouths strive to meet others, to find the spots of skin and nerves that make another moan and quake. Against the cleft of her backside, Alistair's shaft weighs thick and hard, Cullen's pressed to her hip bone, pulsing, as two of his fingers sink into her without warning. She bucks as her finds the spot inside her that makes her writhe, her movements restricted by the press of bodies against her, and she blinks in confusion at the resistance against her leg.

In the haze of sensation that's clouding her mind, she hadn't noticed Artemis's subtle movements, that the woman now straddles her long thigh, rubbing against the length of it, a smear of excitement in her wake that cools Elizabeth's skin even as it incites her lust. Pressed back against Alistair, she stumbles as Cullen's fingers delve deeper and Artemis ruts against her, legs threatening to buckle. He catches her before she falls, supporting her weight and Artemis's with it, and the Inquisitor gives a sheepish grin, her cheeks stained pink.

'I...um, seem to have gotten a bit carried away,' she admits, prompting a soft chuckle from Alistair and Cullen, and Elizabeth smiles back at the other woman, taking her hand when she's regained her footing.

'I have no objections to that,' she smiles, pressing against the shorter woman again, kissing softly at full lips, 'but perhaps we should move this to the bed, lest any accidents occur.'

Gripping the woman's small hand, she interlocks their fingers before walking backwards to the bed, pulling the Inquisitor with her as Alistair moves out of their way to watch, his eyes locked on the sway of Artemis's generous hips. Firm mattress hitting the backs of her knees, Elizabeth sinks onto the bed, shimmying back to make room for the other woman, not failing to notice how their men close in behind.

Distracted, she watches them draw near, sinuous muscles rolling beneath flushed, dampened skin, their eyes rich and dark as they take in the scene before her. Lost in her own appraisal of them, she’s taken by surprise again by the mage before her, small hands pressing against her shoulders, pushing her flat into rumpled sheets as Artemis climbs atop her.

'Oh, Maker...'

She only half hears Alistair's wanton moan at the sight they present, too lost in meeting Artemis's pale blue gaze, her wicked grin that wavers with uncertainty for a split second until she abandons all caution and lips crash to hers. Supple tongue pressing to her lips, she gives into Artemis's desire, letting her take control as her tongue strokes, suddenly languid, against hers. Soft breasts press to her own chest, warm and firm, and she finds herself running her palms over the other woman's ribs, the sides of her breasts, eager to have a handful of whatever flesh she can.

Pressed together as they are, there's little she can reach and so Elizabeth eases her hand over the woman's slender back, feeling the roll of subtle muscles under her fingers, the rise and fall of her body as she breathes, until she can skim each hand over the flare of Artemis's hips. Above her, the Inquisitor shifts, shuffling further forwards on her knees, breaking the kiss, and Elizabeth takes the opportunity to drift her hands further down, over the pleasing curves of her backside. Rolling her hands over the full flesh, she edges closer to her goal, kissing at the peaks of Artemis's breasts that now hang before her face, fingers tickling over fine hairs until she finds soft, swollen flesh.

With the lightest pressure her fingertip slips between wet folds, sinking into the other woman and Artemis moans, back arching, the sound sending vibrations thrilling through Elizabeth's body. Until the woman tosses her head, a low 'no' escaping her and Elizabeth retreats as quickly as she can without hurting the other woman, alarmed that she's somehow misread her.

'Artemis? I...apologise, I thought you...'

She's silenced by lips pressing to hers, Artemis's hands grabbing her shoulders as she meets her gaze, the other woman's breath labouring just so. Beside them, Cullen and Alistair climb onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath their weight, and the commander reaches for her, his expression concerned as his hand rests on her shoulder.

Chuckling, Artemis shakes her head, blonde waves bouncing with the motion.

'There's no problem, you all worry too much.'

'But you stopped me?' Elizabeth questions.

'If I'm honest,' a blush spreads across Artemis's golden cheeks, 'I was hoping to repay the favour you gave me the other day. If I'd let you continue I...wouldn't have been able to stop myself to do so.'

'Ah...' Her heart calms its frantic pace some, relieved that she hadn't pushed too far as she had feared, and she allows a smile to flit across her lips. 'I think I would enjoy that, though I'd not want to do anything you might find...distasteful.'

Artemis shakes her head again, an amused smile present as her eyes light up.

'It would be my pleasure.'

Before Elizabeth can protest, the woman all but pounces on her, kissing a slow, steady trail down her sternum, her belly, and a mighty sigh escapes the queen's lungs as she submits, watching through lidded eyes as the woman treks ever downwards, halting in the cradle of her hips. Warm hands find her thighs, encouraging them apart, and she realises from the roughness of the fingertips against her smooth skin that it must be Alistair and Cullen doing so, one hand each that drag her legs aside with no resistance.

Weight settles heavy between her spread legs, the warmth of Artemis's body pressed against her as heavy breath puffs against her damp folds, thumbs parting her to the other woman's view.

'My suggestion would be to start with the flat of your tongue,' Cullen advises, his tone not quite at its normal composure, though he does his best to maintain it. Husky notes roughen his voice, and Elizabeth steals a glance from where she watches between her own legs to the commander's face.

Dark eyes fix on Artemis and her motions, darting from one feature to another, the tip of his tongue flicking out to moisten lips as his free palm reaches down to grip his proud length. His thumb plays over the flared ridge of his head, eyes fluttering at the sensation, broad chest rising as he takes a steadying breath.

She doesn't see any more, the long, slow stroke of Artemis's tongue against her centre making her eyes fall shut, a lengthy groan escaping her at the sudden wet heat, just enough pressure to make her hips twitch expectantly. More surprising though, is that there is no pause on the Inquisitor's part as she sets to work, her tongue retreating for a heartbeat only to return again with more force, her wide parted lips sealing over her core as if she's done this many times before. Indeed as that tongue begins to swipe and delve, testing out her reactions, she does so with remarkable precision and before long Elizabeth finds herself panting, writhing against the bedsheets. Her arousal seems to pool in her belly and loins, tendrils of fire creeping out from those two points to suffuse her entire body, until she feels as though her skin is tingling, head spinning, the sensation broken only at the rare moments the other woman pauses for breath.

When she does so, heat retreats with her, her arousal cooling some, until Cullen manoeuvres himself closer, his grip on both her hip and his cock loosening and he scoops her up, gathering her into his lap as he had Artemis the other day. This time, however, he allows himself to lie flat on his back, with her stretched out atop him rather than spooned together, one hand finding a nipple that he pinches, the other grabbing her by the scruff of her neck, pulling her in for a bruising kiss as he ruts against her, his stiff cock nuzzling at her damp folds.

Soft panting reaches her ears, not from Cullen with his hooded eyes and parted lips, but from behind, and she shifts, turning to look over her shoulder to Artemis and Alistair, eyes widening at the scene they make, a heavy throb running through her as Cullen reacts to the sight as well, his slickened shaft nudging at her entrance.

Moving to stand at the edge of the bed Alistair holds Artemis all but aloft, hands clutching her hips as he presses inside her, leaving only her forearms to rest on the mattress. Her breasts sway, belly rising and falling along with her chest, the very tips of her nipples brushing against silken sheets with every hard thrust he delivers. Wriggling, she bites at her lip, burying her head against sheets to moan before attempting to crawl forward the few inches that Alistair's dragged her back by, somehow managing to seize hold on Elizabeth's thighs and tugging her back in turn. A moment later and her mouth is pressed against her core again, tongue flicking back and forth.

Caught in her own pleasure, Artemis's movements are erratic, hard flicks and strokes of her tongue interspersed with great puffs of heated breath. It should be distracting, and yet every act only serves to stoke her higher, her mouth crushed against Cullen's, his cock shifting back and forth restlessly and he breaks the kiss to nip at her neck, hard enough to make her his, his frustration evident.

'I...I need to be inside you.' He grunts, his hand tightening on her breast until she wriggles under his touch, nipple trapped between unrelenting fingers. She can't form a coherent sentence under the onslaught of Artemis's tongue and lips, and she settles for letting out a quiet groan, shifting back, her core clenching at the increased pull on her nipple, her own arousal seeping from her now.

'Maker's sake Cullen,' Alistair pants, soft groans from Artemis as his rhythm slows, her tongue’s movements growing languid, 'just take her.'

Cullen doesn't need to be told twice, wrenching her away from Artemis's mouth and she lets out a soft yelp of surprise and disappointment at the loss, only to be turned in Cullen's arms before he buries himself inside her in one smooth motion. It's as exquisite as it is sudden, her quim stretched and filled in a few seconds, and he grinds against her once he's fully seated, his calloused hands on her inner thighs tugging her legs apart again, exposing her glistening core to Alistair and Artemis.

There's a moment of quiet, of nothing more than their collective, laboured breathing and the sound of flesh meeting flesh as eyes dart to one another, questioning. Above her, Alistair's eyes linger on Cullen, some meaning passing between the two of them and he pulls free of Artemis, drawing a whimper from her before he hauls her back, and re-entering her, holding her in the same position as Cullen holds Elizabeth. Legs splayed, Elizabeth eyes Artemis sex, swollen and red with arousal and she throbs, feeling her own nipples harden as she clutches at Cullen's solid length within her.

'She's beautiful, isn't she?' Cullen breathes against Elizabeth's ear and she nods, absent minded, focused instead on the woman's generous breasts, how they heave and shudder with her breath, how Alistair's cock slides between her swollen folds.

'Do you want to touch her?'

'Yes.' It's the only word she can manage, descriptions of what she'd like to do to her buried beneath the layers of her own need, and Cullen holds her against him as eases them to the edge of the bed.

Another pause, questioning again, and Elizabeth acts as best she can, sliding her legs beneath Artemis's until their hips meet, sodden cores pressed together as close as they can manage. It makes little difference that they don't align this time, mouths meeting as fingers find each other’s pearls. Muscular arms embrace them, Cullen and Alistair reaching for each other, forcing them closer as they kiss over their shoulders, locking the four of them together as hips begin to rock in earnest.

There's just enough air to breathe, crushed between Cullen and Artemis's almost feverish skin, her own dampening with sweat under the press of their bodies, and she feels it on her back, where Cullen's solid chest presses, running down her spine.

Breaking his grip on Alistair's arm, Cullen pulls his hand to her neck, scooping damp strands from her nape to kiss there, fluttering pecks that mirror the tentative rock of his hips into her. Each rock brings her into contact with the heat of Artemis's core, shunting against her for a few glorious seconds at a time as Cullen's kisses become heavier, the thrusts inside her faster. As she cranes her head to the side to allow him better access to her neck, she catches sight of Alistair, his eyes flicking back and forth between the three of them, his expression between agony and rapture.

He moves faster than Cullen, a desperation to his thrusts that send Artemis's hips crashing against hers, and she works an arm free, reaching for him, attempting to soothe. It's only partially effective, her king's eyes finding hers as he offers a shaky smile, panting between parted lips before Artemis cranes her head back to seize them with her own.

Caught in watching them, she drifts on the sensations around her, the heat and pressure on her skin, the wetness between her legs. Every movement from Cullen sends her hard nipples skimming against Artemis's, sending bolts of pleasure to her core, and she arches into his thrusts, angling him deeper inside her, the movement jolting her nub against Artemis's. The Inquisitor moans in turn, head craned back as slick flesh slides together, electricity roiling through nerves and Elizabeth chokes back her own groan.

Teeth graze along her neck, nipping now, worrying at her skin, sending pleasure firing through her, blood heating as it pools at her core, loins burning, throbbing as pressure coils through her belly. Hips move of their own accord as Cullen and Alistair increase their pace, thrusting in tandem, harder and harder each time until they're slamming them together with bruising force. She wails, high, loud, hands clutching at whoever's flesh she can find purchase on, caught in the endless churning of hips and press of mouths, the constant, building roil of lust that's focused between her legs now.

She throbs, her dripping core gripping at Cullen's solid length, skin prickling into goosebumps as she listens to her lovers' gasps, the rising level of their cries as they mingle together. Behind her Cullen gasps, hips stuttering and his fingers seize on her hip, digging hard and wrenching her back onto his length with a force that seems to rattle her bones.

It ripples through her, as if the energy of his thrusts infuses her in one great heave, an explosion of sensation that centres deep inside her before sweeping out to every extremity, her visions blurring as every muscle contracts, body snapping taut as she rides out wave after wave of her climax, thrashing against the hands that grip her until with a shudder, she goes limp.

The world slows to a crawl, arousal pulsing through her spent body in low ripples as she watches Alistair bite at his lip, slamming into Artemis, sending an orgasm through both of them that seems to last forever. Behind her, Cullen's grip loosens and he slumps, his weight on her back that presses her into Artemis's quivering form.

Sweat cools on her skin, ragged breath grating at her ears, as the scent of their coupling greets her, heavy musk and salt that seems oddly comforting right now. She's content to rest against Artemis, coiling an arm around her waist, the other reaching past her to find Alistair's hand. His amber eyes flutter open at her touch, a sleepy, contented smile on his lips before he rests his head on Artemis's shoulders, drifting off though he's still nestled within her. It seems no one has the inclination to complain, pressed together in their own heady cocoon of contentment and exhaustion. The only movement comes in rising chests as breathing deepens, and Cullen's tugging at a nearby fur, coiling it around the four of them as best he can. Elizabeth suspects it means he's going without, but nestled between her lovers it seems difficult to protest, knowing he'd rather put their needs first and it’s her last thought as she drifts off.

She awakes some time later, though when, she can't be sure. The moon is high in the sky though, a sure indication that a few hours at least have passed and she lifts a heavy head to glance about the room, noticing the ache in her body as soon as she does. Curled up still between the weight of her three lovers, her back protests. Yet she wouldn't trade it for anything right now.

Behind her, Cullen stirs, waking at the shift in her position. He's slipped free of her in their sleep, his cock soft against his thigh now, still damp with the evidence of their evening's exertions and he pulls her back against him, turning her to face him. His head buries in the crook of her neck, and she finds herself stroking at ruffled curls, enjoying the moment before it has a chance to break. Which will be all too soon.

A soft groan alerts her to the others waking, and Elizabeth glances over her shoulder, noting that Alistair only now slips free of Artemis, a hiss on his lips as they uncouple.

'Well, that's sticky,' he comments, and she can't help but laugh at the bluntness of the words and the wrinkling of Artemis's nose in distaste.

'Our last night together,' Cullen murmurs, chest rumbling against her, 'and all you can say is 'well that's sticky'?'

Alistair grimaces, peeling himself away from Artemis before flopping back down, the cool night air drying his skin.

'I could say a great deal more but...' he halts, and she catches it, the glisten in his eyes as he worries his lower lip.

Cullen sees it, reaching for him, pulling him into the huddle as Artemis spoons behind him.

'We know, Alistair. It grieves us all that we should have to part now.' The Commander's voice comes hushed, a tremor in its depths and with a decisive movement he presses them all together again, a tangle of limbs as they seek to hold each other for as long as they can. But it occurs to Elizabeth, ensnared comfortably in the press of her lovers’ bodies, that this is not the end for them. Not by a long way.

'It may be that we have to go our own ways for now,' she speaks after a moment, voice breaking the quiet of the night, 'but I do not think this is it. There are other ways we might reconnect; events to be attended and deals to be negotiated. And I'm certain that it would be customary for us to invite the Inquisition to the royal palace to show our appreciation for all you've done for Ferelden.'

'These are just short term though, 'Lis,' Cullen interjects before Artemis catches her gaze.

'Short term for now,' she adds, 'but we don't know what will come in future. The Inquisition's purpose was to repair the rift and destroy Corypheus. With that done...perhaps there will not be a need for the Inquisition much longer. And if I ever get rid of this...' she waves her left hand, green light flaring as she does, '...then who's to say what I choose to do with my retirement.'

She grins impishly, and Elizabeth nods back;

'Then there is hope that this is not the end for us. As unusual as this arrangement is, I'd be eager to continue for as long as we may.' 

Alistair nods in agreement, eyes distant until she catches his gaze, noting that the glisten still hasn't abated.

'If we can, we have to find a way,' he urges, 'I don't...I don't think I could cope with losing you all.'

His eyes flick to Cullen as he speaks, and she knows the word he leaves unspoken is 'again'.

'Then we endeavour to find a solution, no matter how long it takes us.'

Murmurs of agreement mingle, hands running over exposed skin, feeling, remembering, lips meeting and holding as fingers twine, the four of them together until they're all breathless, light headed, hearts full. Practicality niggles at Elizabeth's mind, reminders that they have to rise early, that they must return to their rooms unseen, that she still has to dress in the multiple layers of her gown.

She doesn't care though, not at this moment, in the arms of the people she loves. And she decides that just this once, practicality can take a hike.

For just a few moments more, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> As always kudos and comments are hugely appreciated.
> 
> And once again, there is an epilogue to come. It's not a massive thing, but it will just round off the end of the story.
> 
> Until next time :)


	23. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...an epilogue...

Epilogue

In the early hours of the morning, King Alistair and Queen Elizabeth of Ferelden crept back to their quarters, leaving the Inquisitor and her Commander's bed for the last time. A few hours later, with barely a wink of sleep achieved, they rose, bathed, groomed and dressed before attending the formal affair of their official farewell breakfast.

Horses saddled, provisions for the journey packed and Barkspawn finally rounded up, the monarchs thanked their hosts, climbed onto their mounts, assembled their guards around them and rode out of the castle into the crisp air of the Frostback Mountains.

That was the last that Inquisitor Trevelyan and Commander Cullen heard from their lovers until a few weeks later, when two letters arrived, one a formal thank you for their hospitality, and the other a more personal letter, signed by the king and queen, that detailed their safe return home to Denerim Palace, and expressed sincere wishes to see them again soon.

And so it went, for the next few months, friendly letters exchanged back and forth as autumn gave way to winter, until one day, a letter of note appeared, the surest sign of a change of events for all of them.

It arrived in a thick envelope, a rather more formal letter than what Artemis was used to from them, but she paid it no heed, assuming that the embossed letter with its officialism was of little consequence in comparison to the hand written note that was included. Cullen lifted an eyebrow, striding around their quarters to stand behind her, a hand on her shoulder as he peered at the envelope, reaching for the formal letter even as Artemis took the smaller, folded parchment.

Grinning, eager to see what their new lovers have been up to, she flipped open an unusually small handwritten note.

She took a moment for the words to make sense. Her heart sank.

There on plain parchment, written in Alistair's unmistakable hand, was a single line of text;

_'We need to talk.' ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading this far, it's been a bit of an effort I'm sure. Please know that every kudos, comment and subscription is hugely appreciated, from anyone who was here at the start to those who may have just stumbled on this fic now. Thank you all for keeping me going, and I hope the read was worthwhile for you.
> 
> And yes, there might just be a sequel, if I can work the kinks out of my ideas :S
> 
> Until next time :)


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